Mind Games
by chasingmavericks
Summary: A sadistic killer wants to test Peter's abilities as an agent. What's the best motivation to get Peter to "play along?" To take Neal, of course! Lots of Neal whump, some Peter whump, and lots of worried Peter angst! Now COMPLETE! Rated T for violence and language.
1. All is Well

Disclaimer: I do not own White Collar or the characters (sadly), they belong to Jeff Eastin.

 **Chapter 1**

All is Well

"You didn't have to drive me all the way home, Peter. I don't mind walking."

"What? You don't like my company?" Peter glanced to his partner on his right, a slight smirk emerging on his face because Neal was usually the one making sarcastic comments during car rides.

Neal exhaled, shaking his head with a small smile. "I think I'm rubbing off on you." Peter chuckled at that and replied, "I'm hoping only the good qualities."

"All my qualities are good qualities!" Neal stated, eyeing Peter with his blue eyes, the city lights reflecting in them like water.

At that comment, Peter just looked at him and raised his eyebrows. He didn't need to say anything. The unspoken communication between the two was like they could read each other's minds.

They were silent for a few minutes. Normally Neal would feel uncomfortable with such silence and feel the need to break it with some witty comment, but with Peter, he didn't need to talk. He was comfortable with Peter, and simply enjoyed his company. He felt his gaze shift toward Peter. He admired his profile for a few moments, but was interrupted when Peter said, "What are you looking at, Neal?"

Neal was lost in thought for a moment, but quickly and sarcastically replied, "I think you have two new wrinkles."

Peter scoffed, "Yeah, they are all thanks to you. I have to constantly worry about you because there will come a day when your curiosity gets you in trouble. Watching your back gets tiring after a while." What he said was partly true.

There was a brief silence. Then Peter added, "But that's what I'm here for, Neal."

Neal looked at him and smiled. Genuinely smiled. Not his beaming, overkill smile he used to con people, but a genuine smile that had real emotion behind it. This was odd for Neal. Peter was the only one who ever got to see Neal under his con-mask, and only on rare occasions.

Neal used to be the felon he was stuck watching, but Neal's charm and wit and impeccable instincts made Peter regard him as much more than that. He was not only a friend, he was his partner. Neither of them ever admitted it, but there was a father/son-like bond between them, and both felt comfort over that fact.

They arrived at Neal's apartment around 9:00pm. Peter already knew El would be pissed at him for missing dinner _again,_ but he didn't want to make Neal walk home in the cool November night which was approaching freezing. Neal hopped out of the car and said, "Go get home to El, tell her I said sorry for holding you up." It was like he knew what Peter was thinking. He flashed Peter a smile (more con-like this time, but still charming as hell), and gave him a two finger wave, flipping his hat on and strolling toward the front steps.

Reluctantly, Peter drove away without watching Neal go inside. _He's a grown man, I don't need to babysit him._ But he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right. Maybe it was the ominous breeze blowing through the city. Maybe it was the sliver of moon giving off little light over the streets. Maybe it was the connection he and Neal experienced in the car. But something in his gut just told him something was amiss. However, his desire to see El after the long day overpowered his worry. He did drive Neal home after all, and he is safe at June's place, like always.

He arrived at his house, immediately apologizing to Elizabeth the second he stepped in the door.

"I'm just happy to see you, hon." She said sweetly and kissed him. "I'm heating you up a plate, just take a seat and relax."

Peter smiled at his wife. She was so understanding and so forgiving.

"Neal and I were going over some cold cases, I guess we lost track of time." He said to El. Which was true. He told El that he thought Neal's eyes would be able to see something he may have missed, and he'd been right. Neal was able to connect a suspect to an insurance fraud case in less than an hour, but then got overwhelmed as he found this suspect had multiple aliases, with crimes woven throughout the country over the past decade. Before they knew it, it was past 8 and they had to get going. Neal was slightly bitter that he couldn't keep working, but felt bad to keep Peter out too late, so he accepted the ride that Peter offered and said he would take a crack at the case first thing in the morning. Peter laughed. Neal looked at him suspiciously, with his head tilted to one side. Peter said, "No agent of mine has been able to come up with anything in a year, and you just uncovered everything, we just need to piece it together. You've got serious potential."

El chuckled, "And how did he respond to THAT?"

"Oh you know Neal, just took it in stride and said something sarcastic." Peter sighed.

El hugged Peter from behind, "I'm sure he appreciates it hon."

With that, Peter ate the dinner El had prepared him, pat Satchmo on the head, and went up to shower. He still had a nagging feeling that something was wrong, but he brushed it off as an effect of the long day. He thought about calling Neal after he got out of the shower. It was past 10, however, and he didn't want to wake him for no reason. He plugged his phone in and put it on the nightstand next to his bed. He flipped the light off and snuggled in next to his wife. He didn't realize how tired he was until he closed his eyes. Sleep pulled him into the abyss of darkness.

* * *

He awoke to his phone buzzing in the early morning. It was June calling. _What could she possibly want?_ He answered it quietly, avoiding waking El up.

"Hello?" Peter said.

"Peter! It's June! Did Neal stay with you last night?" June said with a hint of worry in her tone.

"Uh, no. No he didn't. June, why do you ask?"

Peter heard June take a long breath, then say, "He didn't come home last night, Peter."

Peter felt his heart jump and adrenaline start to flow through his body. "You're sure? When did you go to bed last night?"

June replied, "I was home all day. I was hoping to see Neal when he got home but after a while I figured it was a late day. I went up to bed around 8:30. I was awake until 11 though, I couldn't sleep, and I never heard him come in."

Peter tried to keep his voice calm. Neal could be fine, after all. "I dropped him off at 9:00pm last night. Last I saw he was walking toward the porch. Could you go out and see if you see anything June? He could have left a note maybe?" Peter thought that was a long shot. Neal would have gone in to tell June where he was going. But Peter felt it was worth a try.

"Yes! Of course, give me a moment." Peter could hear her shuffling down the stairs. He looked at the clock, it read 5:45am. He wondered if Neal went to stay with Mozzie. But that made no sense. He wouldn't accept a ride then walk all the way to Mozzie's place, and not to mention it's impossible to know exactly where Mozzie is. And Neal _was_ walking toward the porch. _Why didn't I just watch him go in?_ Peter's thoughts were interrupted when he heard a sharp gasp on the other end.

"June! June! What's wrong?" Peter said, a hint of panic in his voice.

"Peter…oh my God. Peter, there's…there's blood on the porch!" June's voice was shaking. "His phone is here. Neal's phone is on the ground. Oh my God what happened to him?" June was panicking. Peter knew he had to calm her.

"June, it's okay, just go back inside, I'm coming." He hung up. _This is not okay._ He looked over at El, still sleeping. He whispered to her, "Honey, I need to go. Something very urgent has come up. Please don't worry, it might be nothing." He knew that was a lie, but he didn't want to worry her. Her blue eyes sleepily blinked up at him and she nodded her head and said softly, "Be safe." He kissed her forehead before quickly changing and practically running out to his car. He ran down his porch but stopped dead in his tracks at what he saw on the hood of his car.

 _Neal's hat—the hat he was wearing last night._

* * *

This is my first fan fic ever, so please review! I appreciate criticism if it is constructive. I will try to update as much as I can, I am not going to leave you hanging forever I promise. Not sure how long this will be but I promise there will be plenty of whumps and twists and all that fun stuff. Thanks for reading!


	2. Let the Games Begin

There are two parts to this chapter, I hope you enjoy them. I am trying to be as detailed as possible to get the max enjoyment of the story for everyone. I am gone for most of the day tomorrow but I will do my best to get chapter 3 posted! Luckily chapter 2 is somewhat long so hopefully that will hold you over :) The story is JUST beginning! Enjoy-

Also, any mistakes are mine!

(I do not own White Collar)

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

Let the Games Begin

 _9 hours earlier, 9:00pm, June's house_

After flipping his hat on, Neal confidently strode to the porch of June's house. He looked back at Peter, nodded, and saw Peter begin to drive away, quickly disappearing down the street into the night. It was a cold night—near freezing, but Neal was in too good of a mood to notice. He was upset he couldn't crack the cold case right away, but after spending time with Peter in the car he had forgotten all about it. As he walked toward the porch he took out his phone to text Mozzie about possibly meeting tomorrow. He was too distracted to notice the dark figure approaching him from behind.

"Hey!" The figure yelled just a few feet behind him. Neal turned and caught a glimpse of metal coming towards his head. He heard a _crack_ as, what he assumed to be a pipe, made contact with his head. He stumbled onto his knees, dropping his phone several feet away from him, and immediately felt a dull throb pulsing through his head. As his vision returned to normal, he reached up above his temple and felt the warm flow of blood beginning to ooze down the side of his face. He looked up toward his attacker, raising both his hands to avoid further conflict. After all, he detested violence.

"Ah look, I don't have anything valuable. But take what you want." Neal said smoothly, despite the pain radiating around the side of his head. He started to stand, hands still raised, in front of his attacker. His legs wobbled a bit but he was able to get up, a wave of pain coursing through his head.

His attacker looked at him curiously, a mask covering his mouth. But Neal could see his green eyes staring at him intently. He finally spoke with a raspy, high voice. He said, "Now, you may not have anything, but that is not what I'm here for." He giggled slightly. Neal was creeped out by the man's demeanor and voice, but didn't let that show on his expression. The man spoke again, "You don't know me, but I know you Neal Caffrey. And I know Peter Burke. I was hoping to have some _fun_ , you see? Ah, how do I put this? _You're_ coming with _me_." Neal squinted curiously, the blood still seeping out of the wound near his scalp.

"Now why the hell would I do that?" Neal asked, still playing it cool, however his voice was louder than expected.

The man suddenly ran up to Neal, pushing him up against the wall with the metal pipe against his throat. He was too quick for Neal to fight back, and Neal found himself struggling for air at his grip. The man whispered, "Shh shh shh darling, we don't want to wake June now do we?" He said with a sly smile. Neal could barely breath with the metal pushed up against his neck, but his eyes widened at the mention of June. _Who the hell is this guy?_ His thoughts were interrupted when the man released his grip and said, "I'm sure you have a lot of questions, but it's easier if you aren't awake for our ride over." Neal saw the man's arm move, and before he could defend himself, he was met with another deafening blow on the same side of his head. His vison blacked out and he collapsed against the wall. He blinked and found himself face down on the porch. His ears were ringing, his head was pounding, and black spots were obscuring his vision. He reached up to touch his head and winced as he touched the wound, now twice as deep as before. He lifted his head slightly and realized his blood was pooled below his head. Lifting his head brought a sudden wave of dizziness over him, and felt himself sink into darkness once again.

He couldn't open his eyes. His head was exploding with pain and he could feel the blood still flowing freely. He felt someone grab his arms and start to drag him away from the door to his apartment. He moaned at the jostling of his head and was responded to with, "Oh honey, this is just the beginning." He heard a high giggle, which sent a shiver down his spine. He felt his attacker stop and lean against his back as he squatted down to Neal's level. Neal couldn't sit up on his own and his weight was pressed against the chest of his attacker. Neal felt the man rub his nose against his neck, taking a deep inhale, and sighing in satisfaction. Neal tried to move away but the man grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back toward him. Neal felt his eyes trying desperately to look behind him for help of any sort but all he saw was the hand of his attacker gripping his hair. "Say cheese!" Said the man and Neal saw a blinding flash go off in front of him. The sudden light made his head throb even more and he felt his eyelids closing once more.

"Let's see how you look—oh! Perfect! Peter is going to love this." The man said in delight. He stuffed the picture in his jacket and reached down to grab Neal again.

At the mention of Peter, Neal yelled, "No! Stop! What do you want?" But all his attacker did was shove a rag in his mouth. Neal gagged, the coughing movement causing his head to radiate pain throughout his body, and he went limp once more.

Neal felt himself being lifted then thrown into a trunk. He opened his eyes for a second before the trunk door was slammed, leaving him in total darkness. He was in too much pain to care. He closed his eyes and let unconsciousness sweep over him once again.

* * *

 _I knew it. I knew something was wrong. Why did I not wait until he went inside?_ Peter's mind was racing, his heart filled with guilt, as he cautiously approached his car. He looked around his neighborhood but saw nothing, just the soft, yellow glow of the morning sun beginning to reflect off the windows across the street. He made it to his car and picked up Neal's hat off the hood. He secretly hoped Neal was just playing games with him, as he'd done before—sending Peter birthday cards from prison, leaving the Burkes a bottle of wine on their doorstep—but Peter's hopes diminished as he caught glimpse of the polaroid picture tucked in the band around Neal's hat. His worst suspicions were confirmed.

It was blurry, obviously taken at night with flash, but Peter could see it's the profile of a man—his dark hair slightly obscuring his blue eyes. Blood was smeared all over the side of his face. _The blood on June's porch,_ Peter thought, but continued to analyze the picture, trying to convince himself that it wasn't really Neal. The man in the picture did not look like the Neal he knew, his blue eyes gave off a feeling of confusion and anxiousness as he looked back at his attacker, his gaze was sharply fixed on the hand gripping a fistful of his hair. Peter's heart sank as he stared at his friend, his partner, in the picture. The helpless feeling becoming overpowering as he flipped the picture over to reveal a note.

 _Peter Burke-_

 _No harm will come his way if you play my way. No cops. No feds. Just you and me. Let's see how good of an agent you can be._

 _Sincerely,_

 ** _His life depends on it._**

 _P.S._ 40.7607° N, 73.9762° W

Peter quickly typed the coordinates into his phone: the Museum of Modern Art, one of Neal's favorite places ironically. He looked back at the note and saw under the coordinates, "Be there by 7, or he suffers."

Peter looked at his watch. It read 6:03. He quickly jumped in his car and sped toward the MoMA, hoping traffic would not delay him.

He had only been on the road for a few minutes when he received a call from Jones.

"Jones, I can't talk right now. I won't be coming in today it seems—" Peter started, but was interrupted by Jones.

"Caffrey's anklet was cut last night, Peter." Jones stated.

"And you're just telling me this _now?"_ Peter replied, although he already knew more about Neal than Jones did. However, he was still curious why he was being told about the anklet now and also he was afraid to talk because of what the note said: _No cops. No feds. Just you and me._ The words rang in his head like a demented nursery rhyme.

Jones sighed and said, "The US Marshalls computer service was updated last night. They did not notice the discrepancy until a few minutes ago. I've already put an APB on Neal, I'm waiting to h—"

"No! Cancel the APB right now Jones!" Peter said frantically, interrupted him.

Jones could sense the panic in Peter's voice. After a moment he asked, "Peter, what's going on? Neal could be running."

"Jones, you don't understand and I can't explain right now. Just cancel the APB. I take full responsibility for Neal. I can guarantee he did not run." Peter said through gritted teeth, afraid he had already said too much. He felt helpless. He knew Jones, Diana, Hughes, as well as the rest of the FBI, could help him locate Neal, but Peter's lack of knowledge of what he was up against made him bite his tongue. He was on his own for the time being.

Jones could sense something was wrong. He wanted to go against Peter's orders to help him but hoped his superior was in control of the situation. He reluctantly replied, "Okay boss, APB cancelled. What do you want me to tell everyone here? And what about the Marshalls?"

Peter thought for a moment. He had to get a message to them somehow to let them know Neal was in trouble. "Well, tell the Marshalls not to worry. Make up a story about us losing the key and needing to cut the anklet for an undercover operation. I'm sure you can be convincing." He paused, trying to think of what to say when suddenly a thought crossed his mind. He said, "Tell everyone Neal and I won't be coming in today. He wanted to see an art exhibit, apparently there is a show with pieces that were displayed in the Vatican. Hopefully none of Neal's _alleged_ forgeries make a cameo at this show. I'm going with him to keep an eye on him, considering what happened _last time_ I left him alone with art." Peter said casually. He had no idea—but he assumed—Neal's kidnapper had a way of listening to his conversation. He hoped the kidnapper wouldn't catch what he was trying to say, and would hopefully understand that it was inevitable for him to lie to the FBI about him and Neal.

Jones thought about what Peter had said. He had started recording the phone conversation when he realized something wasn't quite right. He'd run it by Hughes after the conversation ended. After Peter finished he replied, "Okay, boss. You guys have fun. Let us know if you need anything." Peter heard the click of the line ending and closed his phone.

He looked at his watch, it read 6:40am. Luckily he was nearing the museum. He parked on the street and quickly approached the door. He had no idea what he was looking for. He wished the note had been more specific. It was already 6:45; he only had 15 minutes to figure out what Neal's kidnapper wanted him to find. He approached the directory to see if anything stood out. He jumped when he heard the payphone behind him ring.

 _Oh God. It's probably him. This means he is watching my every move. How?_

Peter walked over to the phone. No one else was around so he knew what was waiting on the other end of that call. He took a deep breath and answered, "What do you want?"

He heard a raspy laugh on the other side. Just the sound of it made his skin crawl. The man on the other end finally said, "Don't be such a Debbie Downer, Peter Burke! I just want to have some _fun_!"

"Kidnapping and holding an FBI asset hostage is not what most consider fun. That's considered a felony punishable up to eight years in prison, and those charges will keep adding up if you hurt—" Peter was interrupted.

"Oh relax! It is up to you and _you only,_ Peter Burke, if our little friend here gets hurt." The high voice on the other end said.

Peter felt the rage building up inside him. "What about the blood on his head? I didn't have control of that."

"Oh, dear. Sorry about that. Technicalities you know. I know his escape record, and unfortunately I wasn't taking any chances. I made sure the pipe was clean though! At least he won't die from tetanus or another infection." Peter heard the laugh echoing in the background once again. He shivered when he heard the word "pipe" because he already knew Neal would be in rough shape just from getting hit with that. And if the kidnapper was willing to do that right off the bat, Peter realized the worst was yet to come.

Neal was in _serious_ trouble.

The voice spoke again, quieter and softer this time, "Peter, I just want to play a game. If you play along, Neal will be fine. If you break my rules or fail, well, Neal will pay the price. This game ends when you find him. But it's up to you what shape he'll be in when you do…If he's in any shape at all." Peter jerked the phone away from his ear, tightening his fists in frustration.

"Oh, and good job lying to your colleague. Neal would be proud!" The voice chimed again.

Peter finally spoke, as menacing as he could be, "If you touch him again I swear to God I'll—"

"You'll what? Wave your badge in my face and arrest me?"

"Let me talk to him." Peter demanded.

The raspy voice spoke, "You know, normally I'd say no, you need to be patient. But, I like you Peter Burke, and I can practically feel the guilt tearing you apart through the phone. For that, I'll let you speak to him, mind you, he may not hear you. He still hasn't quite woken up."

Peter sighed, then heard the phone shift as the man said, "You have thirty seconds."

"Neal! It's Peter! I'm going to find you okay? Just hang in there buddy." He said, letting more panic in his voice show than he meant to. He stopped when he heard a slight gasp on the other end of the line.

"Neal?! Can you hear me? Talk to me!" Peter practically yelled.

He heard another gasp on the other end then leaned against the wall in shock when he heard Neal finally speak.

"Pe…Peter?" Neal said, voice shaking.

"Yes Neal, I'm here. You were taken. I'm going to find you. It's going to be okay." Peter tried his best to be convincing. In reality, he had no idea whether anything would be _okay._

Neal's words came out as just more than a whisper, but Peter was sure of what he heard.

"I trust you, Peter." Neal said, barely audible.

At that, the phone was taken away from Neal and Peter was greeted once again by Neal's captor.

"Now that you've heard from him, are you ready for the next step? There's only one answer to that, so I'll save you the trouble." He snickered again. Peter's blood began to boil. He hated this man. He had no idea who he was, but all he knew was that he had Neal and he hurt him. Peter's heart felt like it was ripped from his chest when he heard Neal struggle to speak. _He_ did this to him. It was his fault. The man, the _psychopath,_ was doing this because of Peter, and he felt a burden of guilt weighing on his shoulders.

"Alright. You already know the rules." The man continued. "You'll find your next clue after you solve this little puzzle. You might want to write this down." The man stated matter-of-factly, like the referee of a game. _That's what he thinks he is,_ Peter thought.

"Okay, I'm ready." Peter sighed. He hated being so passive and giving in to this man's demands. But he had no other choice. He had to play along if he ever wanted to get Neal back alive.

The voice began to reel off numbers. Peter struggled to keep up.

"42343215 521143 333444 1245243144 2433 11 141154 124544 2444 21153131 2433 343315, you got that?" The voice said.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with this?" Peter asked, letting panic creep into his voice again. His adrenaline rose when the only response he received was, "You have one hour." The line clicked and Peter was left leaning against the wall, his head in his hands.

He picked up the paper with the seemingly endless numbers listed and sighed in frustration. He was at a loss for words. He looked at the numbers, then back at his watch—7:12am—then set his timer for one hour. He had no idea where to start, and was already cursing himself over the fact that him not being able to solve this would cause Neal pain.

Peter wished he was the one taken. Not that he would want Neal to suffer the internal turmoil he was experiencing right now—the not knowing, the guilt, the worry—but Peter knew that Neal would handle it. Peter knew that he was the FBI Agent, he went to Quantico, and had better instincts than most, if not all other agents. But Neal's instincts were unparalleled. He did not go to Quantico. He was a felon. But the way his mind worked to piece things together would make Peter almost jealous, however he would never admit that to Neal, especially since his jealously was masked by gratitude and amazement. He knew that if Neal was in his situation right now, looking at this clue to find Peter, he would have already figured it out most likely, and Peter would be on his way home to embrace El and his friend. His friend who has saved his life more than a few times already. However, that is not what reality is. Neal is still missing. Peter is on his own. He is up against a sadistic psychopath who is testing his abilities. This kidnapper is smart, Peter knew it when he looked at the first clue, and now he was at a dead end. A dead end at the _second clue._ How pitiful. He wished he could apologize to Neal, to tell him how sorry he was that he got him into this situation.

 _God, dammit Peter Burke! You are an FBI agent. Figure it out! You are wasting time feeling sorry for yourself. Figure this out for Neal._

Peter felt helpless. _No cops. No feds. Just you and me._ Who could he call? _Mozzie._ Of course! Peter cursed at himself for not thinking of this sooner. He just hoped he could get a hold of the little guy.

 _Neal's life depends on it._

* * *

Thank you for reading! What do you think? Like it? Hate it? Let me know! What do you want to see in this story? I appreciate any and all reviews! Once again, it is my first fan fic!


	3. The Unknowing

Disclaimer: I still don't own White Collar, though I wish. Any mistakes are mine. Any factual errors are unintentional...may have to bend the truth to fit the story. Thanks for you patience, here is your well-deserved chapter 3!

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

The Unknowing

* * *

As Peter flipped open his phone to call Mozzie, his phone started buzzing.

 _June._

Peter had completely forgotten about June. She must be worried sick at this point, as he was supposed to be coming by over an hour ago. However, those plans were interrupted when he got woven into the sick game of finding Neal, hosted by one of New York's finest psychopaths. He shook his head, the stress beginning to wear on him. He quickly answered his phone, hoping he hadn't caused June too much stress, which was an understatement, because June was already at her limit.

"June, I am so sorry. There is little time to explain. Neal was taken and I'm being forced to follow clues to his location. If I don't solve them in a certain amount of time, Neal gets hurt. He…he already is hurt." _Now why'd you have to tell her THAT?_ Peter collected himself, and tried to be positive. _"_ But…but don't worry June, I'm going to find him safe and sound." He did his best to be convincing. He wished he had Neal's smooth-talking abilities, but his emotions were too high to put a façade past June. He refused to tell her that the man holding him was _insane,_ to say the least. He also refused to tell her that he was already stuck in his search. "June, I want you to go—"

"Peter, I've already left." June interrupted. "I'm safe, well away from my apartment."

Peter sighed, relieved but curious, and asked, "How did you know to leave?"

June let out a small laugh, although they both knew there was no joy behind it. "I think you're forgetting that Neal and my late Byron are very similar. I know when I need to step away for my own safety." June sighed, then continued, "If anyone can find him, it's you Peter."

Peter didn't realize his eyes starting to well up until they started to sting slightly. He blinked away the unfallen tears and cleared his throat. She was right, after all. He was the only one who could find him, but he needed help. Which reminded him, "June, I need to call Mozzie. I will let you know if anything comes up." He wished he could tell her that everything would be okay, and Neal would be returned safe and sound, but, as he glanced down at his watch which was counting down from 48 minutes now, he felt a sense of urgency. He knew the minutes were counting down to Neal's suffering.

"Just bring him home." was all June replied with as she ended the call.

Peter sighed, shaking his head. He dug through his phone contacts, trying to figure out which one of Mozzie's contacts he would be most successful with. Then he remembered the number Mozzie had given him for emergencies.

 _"Now, this number is specifically for you, Suit. Only emergencies. Not 'The FBI needs your help, Moz' type of emergency, a_ real _one. Can you manage that?" Mozzie asked Peter, eyeing him skeptically._

 _"I get it Mozzie, relax." Peter said as he took the card from Mozzie. He looked down at the number and couldn't help but laugh. It read, "212-THE-SUIT" which didn't surprise Peter at all, considering it came from Mozzie. He appreciated it though, the fact that Mozzie was willing to give him his number—well, a number—was a big step, and Peter could use him as a backup when needed._

 _"Remember, only for emergencies." Mozzie said as he walked away._

"Well, this qualifies as an emergency." Peter said to himself as he dialed the number. "C'mon, pick up the phone, Mozzie, dammit." Peter said into the phone as it rang for the fourth time. To his relief, Mozzie answered.

"This better be good, Suit." Mozzie said, a hint of frustration in his voice. He hated anything that had to do with the FBI, but he knew that the number Peter was calling was for _emergencies._ Even still, he figured Peter was just looking for information on a case.

"Mozzie, I need your help." Peter sighed.

"Don't you dare drag me into one of your cases, Suit. I've done more than enough already. Pretty soon I'll be wearing one of those anklets too and the government will wire my brain and—" Mozzie's tirade was interrupted by Peter, whose patience was wearing thin.

"Mozzie! Shut up and listen to me for a moment!" Anger hinting in his voice. "Neal has been taken. I can't explain over the phone. I have less than 45 minutes to solve this…this clue or else Neal gets hurt. Just meet me in Grand Army Plaza as soon as possible."

"I'll be there in ten minutes." came Mozzie's reply. His tone was serious, for once.

Peter started to walk toward the plaza. His mind beginning to wonder about Neal. _How far was this psychopath willing to go? He already bashed his head open just to kidnap him. What will he do to intentionally inflict pain? Neal hates violence, and he definitely doesn't deserve this._

Peter shook the thoughts away as he remembered the message he tried to send to Jones. He prayed that he understood what he was trying to say, because without the help of the FBI, Neal may never be found.

* * *

"Hughes!" Jones yelled into the pit after he hung up with Peter. His superior was briefing a few agents but abruptly stopped and turned around at Jones' urgent outburst. As he walked toward Jones, he asked, "What is going on? Did you tell Peter about Neal running?"

Jones took a breath, unsure how to tell Hughes what he _thought_ was going on. "Sir, I just got off the phone with Peter, and I'm afraid it's more complicated than that. Come listen, please."

Hughes looked at Jones questioningly, but agreed and went into the briefing room to listen to the phone conversation.

 _"Jones, I can't talk right now. I won't be coming in today it seems-"_

 _"Caffrey's anklet was cut last night, Peter."_

 _"And you're just telling me this now?"_

 _"The US Marshalls computer service was updated last night. They did not notice the discrepancy until a few minutes ago. I've already put an APB on Neal, I'm waiting to h—"_

 _"No! Cancel the APB right now Jones!"_

Hughes looked up and raised his eyebrows at Jones, who replied, "Wait Sir, just listen."

 _"Peter, what's going on? Neal could be running."_

 _"Jones, you don't understand and I can't explain right now. Just cancel the APB. I take full responsibility for Neal. I can guarantee he did not run."_

 _"Okay boss, APB cancelled. What do you want me to tell everyone here? And what about the Marshalls?"_

 _"Well, tell the Marshalls not to worry. Make up a story about us losing the key and needing to cut the anklet for an undercover operation. I'm sure you can be convincing." There was a pause. "Tell everyone Neal and I won't be coming in today. He wanted to see an art exhibit, apparently there is a show with pieces that were displayed in the Vatican. Hopefully none of Neal's alleged forgeries make a cameo at this show. I'm going with him to keep an eye on him, considering what happened last time I left him alone with art."_

 _"Okay, boss. You guys have fun. Let us know if you need anything."_

There was a click as the tape ended. Jones took a deep breath before saying, "Hughes, I think something's wrong. Peter sounded strange...worried even, and I feel like he couldn't tell me what he wanted to. I think he tried to convey a message, though."

Hughes pondered Jones' statement for a moment. He sighed, "I don't know what to say? I mean, what can we do?"

"Well let's think about the last thing Peter said. ' _…what happened the last time I left him alone with art_.' When was the last time Neal was alone with art? Isn't he always with art?" Jones tried to force a small smile, but felt it was unnecessary for the time being. Silence then consumed the room. Neither knew the answer to Jones' question.

The silence was deafening. What was Peter trying to say? Hughes rubbed his hands on the back of his head, until suddenly he looked at Jones with a sense of astonishment.

"Avery Phillips." He blurted out. "Avery Phillips' cellar, Neal was alone with all the framed art-comic books I think, and Peter had to get to him before Avery did. Remember? The door sealed and the oxygen was sucked out. Neal almost died, Jones." Hughes said, reeling off the information like an auctioneer.

Jones thought for a moment, then said, "Okay, so Neal is by himself right now then, but he's in trouble. The cellar could represent him being held and Peter has to get him out? Is that prying too much out of this?"

Hughes was deep in thought.

"Sir, what do you think?" Jones asked again.

"I think—Ah yes, the cellar, Avery Phillips' cellar. Avery was crazy, to say the least, he wanted to see Neal and Peter die. Remember Peter told us that Avery was staring at Neal after he passed out? That could mean something. Maybe the person who possibly took Neal is crazy—oh, and remember there were five minutes before the oxygen ran out? Neal was running out of _time._ Stop me if I'm stretching this too far, Jones, but I think Peter is trying to say that Neal is being held— _the vault,_ the person holding him is crazy, maybe fascinated with pain and death— _like Phillips,_ and this whole thing has to do with time— _like the five minutes."_ Hughes stated in an analytical, almost psychic way.

"I see why you're in charge here, sir." Jones said, amazed at what he was able to pry from that simple message.

Hughes continued, "Get the team in here. We have a serious problem that we still know little about. Get me every file Neal and Peter were working on recently. I want to know everything, and I'm starting with who might want to hurt either of them."

Jones followed Hughes' order, and the FBI White Collar unit was soon buzzing with activity. Hushed whispered filled the room, and the briefing room was soon filled with those determined to help.

Jones got right to the point. "Neal Caffrey is missing, and we assume he's been taken. We have to keep this on the down-low until I hear from Peter again. We have no idea what we're up against. I'm being blunt because time is of the essence. You have the files you need to look through, so get started and find anything that may lead to Neal's whereabouts."

At the mention of Neal's _supposed_ situation, gasps filled the room. Neal was a felon, and when he first entered the building no one really cared for him. However, he had found a way into everyone's heart, and many of the agents considered him a friend, as well as admired his abilities.

The thought of Neal in danger made everyone uncomfortable. The thought of him in pain was—is heartbreaking. They just hoped they could find a way to get him back in one piece.

* * *

He heard talking in the background, then a laugh—the high, raspy one that made his skin crawl. It was muffled, but he knew what he heard. The calmness from his unconscious state quickly wore off and he soon felt his nerves sink into terror. _Where am I?_ He wondered, and tried to open his eyes. The simple motion sent pain shooting throughout his head, and he let out a sharp breath in pain. He wanted to curl up in a ball on the floor and just sleep, but one, he was too panic-stricken about where he was and what happened, and two, he found his hands were tied above his head around a wooden pole. He pulled at his restraints but quickly stopped as he felt sharp wire digging into his skin. For now, he couldn't move, which was probably for the best because he had no idea if he'd even be able to stand at the moment, and he'd definitely not be able to escape. He decided to focus on the talking in the background.

 _"…_ _This game ends when you find him. But it's up to you what shape he'll be in when you do…If he's in any shape at all."_ The raspy voice said.

There was a pause, then he continued, _"Oh, and good job lying to your colleague. Neal would be proud!"_

 _Oh my God, Neal thought, Peter's on the other end of that phone. Why is he calling Peter? What does he want from him?_

He suddenly remembered what happened the night prior. He remembered being hit— _twice_ —and struggling to maintain consciousness. He remembered being dragged and briefly having his picture taken. _"Peter is going to love this."_

 _Oh no, this guy is using me to blackmail Peter._

Neal's thoughts were interrupted when he felt a phone shoved up to his ear. _"…he may not hear you, he still hasn't quite woken up."_ At that, Neal knew he had to wake up fully. He forced his eyes open, once again experiencing agonizing pain pulsing from the gash on his head. _"You have thirty seconds."_ The voice said.

"Neal! It's Peter! I'm going to find you okay? Just hang in there buddy." Neal could hear him. _Peter!_ Neal wanted to shout with joy at hearing his friend's voice, but his brain and mouth seemed to be disconnected. He could sense the panic in Peter's voice. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a slight gasp.

"Neal?! Can you hear me? Talk to me!" Neal felt himself gasp again, struggling to say what he wanted to. _Yes! Yes I can hear you Peter. Say something Neal, anything! Show him you're okay._

It took nearly all his energy, but he finally choked out, "Pe…Peter?" God, he felt so weak. He wanted to say more, but he knew time was running short. He thought of the best way to show Peter he was okay and he whispered, "I trust you, Peter."

He felt the phone being pulled from his ear. His head slumped back against his chest as he tried to calm the storm brewing in his head. He let his eyes roll back in his head and let unconsciousness take his pain away. He passed out while the man was reeling off numbers into the phone.

Neal awoke a short time later. His head was still throbbing, but it was _manageable_ , although that was an understatement. He was able to open his eyes, and did his best to take in his surroundings.

Everything around him was wooden, however the floor was cold concrete. There were a few throw rugs masking it, but Neal sat on an exposed spot. He was facing the front door, about ten yards back. He was leaned up against a wide wooden pole, probably a support post, and his hands were tied above him, the wire looped behind the post. He saw a small kitchen to his left with a two-person table, a fridge, and a sink. There was a flickering lamp above his head hanging from the ceiling. The ceiling was entirely wooden as well. He looked out the dirty window by the front door and saw green—trees, he thought. This must be a cabin outside of the city. To his right sat a worn, beaten up couch next to a fireplace. Kindling was still crackling and he could smell the smoke from the now dying fire. Before he could finish his observations the door flew open and the man who had taken him strolled in.

"Well good morning sunshine!" He said with a cheery voice.

"Where am I?" Neal asked with no emotion.

"This is my home, Neal. You like?" The man asked.

Neal looked around and said, "It's a little drafty, and personally I would have gone for the hard wood floors, but you know, we don't all have great taste." Despite his pounding head, he was still witty as hell.

The man's face flattened, and he appeared hurt. But then a creepy smirk emerged on his face as he bent down to Neal's level. He whispered in Neal's ear, "Oh, I have great taste. I picked out _you_ , didn't I?" He lifted his head away from Neal but remained at eye level. He raised his eyebrows then looked Neal over, his eyes scanning him from head to toe. "Oh yes, this will do. I can have fun with _this._ " He said as he pointed up and down at Neal's body and stood up, still smiling. Neal felt himself tense up. He still had no idea what this guy was going to do.

He tried to relax. "What's your name?" Neal asked, both curious and trying to change the topic of conversation.

"Wesley. Robert Wesley. Don't think too hard about it because you won't come up with anything. You don't know me, but Peter does. I can't wait until we are reacquainted." The man—Wesley, said.

Neal still tried to think about where he might know him from, but like Wesley said, he had no idea. Neal then asked, "What do you want from me? From Peter?"

Wesley laughed quietly to himself and took a deep breath before answering. "What I want is for Peter Burke to realize that he is not the agent everyone thinks he is. Everyone thinks he is _so smart_ and his instincts are _so good_ just because he has closed a lot of cases. I'm here to show them that there are people he can't beat, and I'm one of them. Plus, I want him to realize that he is nothing without you're help. I can see it Neal, you're the FBI's most valuable team member, but no one appreciates you. Well that how I feel! I was smart enough to be an agent, but—" Wesley stopped suddenly and looked down at Neal, whose eyes were wide open at what he just heard.

"…to be an agent?" Neal started but was stopped when Wesley bent down and grabbed him by his throat. He struggled to breath, and the pressure of Wesley's fingers around his throat made his head erupt in pain again. He squeezed his eyes shut as he waited for the wave of pain to pass, and for Wesley to release him.

Still gripping Neal's throat, Wesley said, "You see, this is what I was afraid of. You're just so damn charming. Look at me! Revealing all my secrets to you! You wish Neal Caffrey. You can con everyone else but you can't con me." He said in an authoritative voice. He finally released his grip on Neal. Neal took in several labored breaths and coughed as he felt the saliva build up in his throat. As he caught his breath, Wesley continued, "We are done talking for now. Maybe later, after I've had a little fun. Plus, you only have a little over thirty minutes of peace, so I'll let you enjoy it. God knows you won't enjoy what's coming." Wesley grinned down at Neal, then walked away toward the kitchen.

Neal gulped. _He calls this peace?_ His gaze shifted as he saw Wesley take out a thin black case from the cabinet. Wesley returned, dragging the small table with him. The legs of the table screeched against the ground and Neal winced. He laid the case on the table, looked at Neal with an evil smirk, and flipped it open. Neal took a sharp inhale and tensed up against the post. He struggled at his restraints, only to be met with the feeling of skin tearing against the sharp wire. However, that was the least of his worries. Ripping open his wrists to escape would surely feel better than what was to come.

Neal's eyes stayed fixed on the contents of the case. He could only see a few things glistening against the sun that was streaming in through the window, but in his mind he already knew what was in there.

Wesley moved away after placing an egg timer next to the case, setting it for twenty-eight minutes. Neal's horrors were confirmed when he saw the array of knives, syringes, and other horrible devices strapped into the case.

"What are you going to do with those?!" Neal practically screamed, his heart thudding against his chest.

Wesley just smiled and shook his head.

"In 28 minutes, you'll find out." Wesley said as he exited the room once more.

 _Peter, please find me._ Neal pleaded to himself.

He closed his eyes and faded into darkness.

* * *

Sorry I am posting this so late. I was gone all day and only got home an hour ago! Like I said, I'm trying to add as much detail as possible-hence including Jones, June, Mozzie, etc. I want multiple perspectives on the same thing, which is why there are usually a few parts to each chapter covering the same time frame. Did anyone catch the Sherlock reference from Peter's hint? "Vatican" and "cameo"? Haha, I couldn't resist. Chapter 4 will be up in a few days, maybe less. I'm doing my best to make this as good as can be, I don't want to rush it! Please review, let me know what you like, dislike, and want to see. Peter and Mozzie are coming up next. Can they solve the next clue? Will Wesley find out about Peter's message to the FBI? Will Neal be okay? Hint: probably not. Follow, Favorite, Review! Thanks!


	4. Code Crackers

Phew! Couldn't resist posting this today. It's a monster of a chapter, I'm not sure how I managed to write it all today. There are twists and whumps and everything in between. Enjoy :)

Any mistakes are mine.

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

Code Crackers

 _After the phone call with Wesley._

Peter made it to Grand Army Plaza in about a minute, because it was only a short walk from the Museum of Modern Art. Peter looked at his watch—43 minutes remained. He wished he could freeze time. He began to get anxious as he waited for Mozzie to show up. He looked at the piece of paper with numbers scribbled on it and sighed, beginning to pace back and forth.

 _"I trust you, Peter."_

Neal's words rang in his head. He tried to shake his mind from Neal's voice, but it kept coming back. His stomach churned at the thought of Neal in pain. _He could barely speak. He sounded so weak._ Even in his state, Neal's first thought was to try to tell Peter he was okay, protecting Peter in his own way. Peter felt responsible and still couldn't shake his mind from Neal's words. He flashed back to the last time he heard them—when Neal sacrificed himself in Avery Phillips' cellar.

 _"Alright we need to find the kill switch." Peter said, looking around frantically, then down at Neal's hand as Neal took the oxygen pipe out of his pocket._

 _"Take this." Neal said, holding it up to Peter._

 _"No…no, we look together. We share the oxygen until Jones comes." Peter held Neal's arm and locked eyes with him to emphasize his point._

 _"There's not enough time!" Neal said, pushing the oxygen into Peter's grip once again. "Five minutes for one person, two and a half for two."_

 _"No, Neal we're wasting time!" Obvious frustration in his voice at Neal's stubbornness._

 _Neal drew in closer, his wide blue gaze fixed on Peter's brown._

 _"Peter,_ _ **I trust you**_ _." he said, handing the oxygen to Peter, who finally took it. Their eyes met for a second more, then both commenced looking for the kill switch, with Phillips and Reed watching from the other side of the glass._

 _"We should go." Reed said._

 _"Hold on. I've never seen anyone die before." Phillips said with a curious fascination at the scene unfolding in front of them._

 _Neal felt his heart racing. It felt as if it would burst from his chest. The only thing distracting him from that was the burning in his lungs and fatigue growing in his muscles as the lack of air began to take its toll. He pushed a line of framed comic book pages out of the way, and felt relieved as he found the kill switch. He could not press it though, because Avery would certainly kill them the second the vault opened. He tried to yell, but no sound came out because there was no air to carry it. He banged on the wall, trying to get Peter's attention as he felt his vision starting to blur, his body finally giving out after several minutes without air. He saw Peter turn towards him, and used every last bit of energy to point at the switch. Peter saw Neal's veins bulging in his neck, his face twisted in pain and desperation as he collapsed against the wall and onto the floor, his eyes quickly rolling back in his head. Peter ran to the switch and was about to press it when he remembered Phillips and Reed on the other side. He looked helplessly down at his lifeless partner and reached down and shook his shoulder. Neal's body was limp and his eyes were closed, he needed to get out of there now. Peter turned back to the kill switch and put his hand over it. Eyeing Avery, he spat out the oxygen pipe and readied his gun. He pressed the switch, and was relieved when he heard Jones yell at Avery, "FBI! Drop your weapons!" His relief faded when he remembered his partner, his last words ringing in his ears._

 _"Peter, I trust you."_

 _Peter knelt down beside him and felt his stomach drop when he couldn't feel Neal's breath on his hand. He placed his hands on Neal's chest to give CPR when Neal suddenly inhaled sharply and opened his eyes. Relief rushed over Peter when he realized Neal was okay. In that moment, he realized he had underestimated him in the past. Neal was willing to do anything for Peter._

Peter shuddered at the recollection, especially as he remembered Neal asking, as they sat on the porch outside the house, _"You have my back, right?"_ However Peter never answered, and instead decided to tell Neal information about the "Man with the Ring" who had Kate at the time. Peter wished he could tell him now, but Neal may die without ever knowing.

He was still pacing around the plaza when his recollection ended and he saw Mozzie walking, almost running, toward him. A baseball cap was pulled down his forehead, almost covering his eyes and his thick glasses were replaced with sunglasses, obviously not wanting to be seen with a Fed in public. But knowing Neal was in trouble, Mozzie pushed his fears aside and got to Peter as soon as he possibly could.

"What happened to him, Suit? Is this your fault?" Mozzie said as he neared Peter, obviously out of breath.

"Mozzie, we have no time to argue." Peter said, his eyes pleading with him. Mozzie's expression changed, he could see Peter was desperate, as well as a mix of other emotions ranging from terrified to anxious to down-right guilty.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I just…what the hell is going on?" Mozzie asked, removing his sunglasses and replacing them with his regular glasses. Peter could see his eyes gave off a feeling of anxiousness as well.

Peter took a deep breath, unsure how to explain the predicament as quickly as possible. He looked at his watch again and clenched his jaw when he saw it read 35 minutes. He took another breath before he said, "I dropped Neal off last night at 9. I watched him walk away but I drove away before he went inside." Mozzie narrowed his eyes at Peter. Peter already knew what he was thinking. He continued, "Yes, I know I should have watched him go in, but it's too late now. Sometime before he reached the door he was attacked." Peter sighed. "June found blood on her porch this morning." Mozzie's mouth opened slightly like he was going to say something, but stopped himself and just nodded. Peter continued, "I walked out to my car early this morning after June called me. Neal's hat he was wearing last night was on the hood, with this picture tucked in the side of it." Peter pulled the picture out of his jacket pocket, grimacing as he caught sight of Neal's helpless expression again.

Mozzie took the picture, giving a similar expression as he saw Neal—his eyes, the hand grabbing him, the _blood._ He shuddered and flipped it over to reveal the message.

"What are the coordinates?" was all he asked.

"The Museum of Modern Art." Peter replied. "I went there and he called me."

" _He?_ The man who took Neal?"

Peter looked down and said, "Yes, unfortunately. He's a psychopath, Mozzie. He's testing me…forcing me…to follow these…these clues that will eventually lead to Neal. But if I don't solve them in a certain amount of time, Neal gets hurt…bad." Peter shook his head and added, "Neal's already in rough shape."

"You spoke to him?" Mozzie said anxiously.

"Yeah…only for a second. He could barely speak." Peter sighed again as Neal's words repeated in his head.

Mozzie could see that the recollection was hurting Peter internally, and said, "Well, how much time do we have? And what's the next clue?"

"We have a little over 30 minutes. I'm at a loss with this one." Peter said as he pulled the slip of paper with the numbers out of his pocket.

Mozzie examined the numbers, squinting inquisitively. Still looking at the numbers he said, "Well, it's too long for a phone number and it can't be coordinates. The different lengths mean they can't represent zip codes. I'd guess they could be the number or numbers from a shipping container, except containers have letters assigned to them as well."

Peter looked down at him, their eyes meeting, as he said almost anxiously, "You mean you _don't_ know what these numbers mean, Mozzie?" Peter felt his heart rate increase and a wave of nausea consume him.

"Now wait, I didn't say that exactly. I said I know what it's _not."_ Mozzie rebutted.

Peter was silent as the nausea began to fade.

Mozzie continued, "If it's not a place, or a number, or thing, it has to be a _code."_ At that, a light went off in Peter's head.

He remembered the various codes and signals Neal had told him about during many conversations, usually to brag about how inconspicuous he could be. To prove the point, Neal took out some of the birthday cards he had sent Peter from prison, and revealed the hidden messages that were encoded in the seemingly simple message on the card. Peter smiled at the memory. _Neal's the one in trouble yet he still finds ways to help me._

Peter finally said, "It's like Morse, but with numbers. You can see the spaces between words."

Mozzie pondered what he said and studied the paper once more. "Each word has an even number of letters, the shortest being two, and the next shortest being four. That most likely means that each letter is assigned to two numbers. Is this ringing any bells?" he asked Peter, who was deep in thought.

Think Peter, think. You can do this. Think about all the codes Neal has told you about.

After a seemingly endless silence, Peter exclaimed, "Polybius Square!" His eyes met Mozzie's, the anxiousness in Peter's eyes was replaced with relief and joy.

"Uh, Suit? What was that?" Mozzie said, utterly confused. He was curious to find out what Peter was talking about, especially since he was the one who usually confused people with his knowledge.

"Polybius Square." He said again, a grin forming on his face. "It's a five by five square, with numbers across the top and down the left side. The first number counts how many rows you go down, and the second counts how many across, giving you a letter. It was invented by the Ancient Greek historian Polybius." Peter said with absolute conviction. He was relieved, but also disappointed in himself that he didn't figure it out sooner. However, he thought Neal would be happy to know he actually _listened_ to his countless car-ride stories. _This story may have saved his life,_ Peter thought, then remembered he still had to solve the code.

He was about to ask Mozzie for the first two numbers, but Mozzie interrupted, "But Suit, five by five is twenty-five, and there are twenty- _six_ letters in the alphabet."

"C and K are on the same slot, they make the same sound." Peter said impatiently, then continued, "Okay, what are the first two numbers?"

"4 and 2." Mozzie replied obediently.

"Okay." Peter said, sliding his finger down and across his hand-written Polybius Square. "It's an 'R'." He said. "Next?"

"3 and 4." Mozzie said.

Once again Peter slid his fingers down and across the paper. "It's an 'O'." He reported to Mozzie, who wrote down the letters. They continued, tediously, until they got to the last two numbers.

"1 and 5." Mozzie said, exhaling and eyeing Peter impatiently.

"It's an 'E'." Peter said, straightening up and looking over Mozzie's shoulder at the now-revealed message.

Rome was not built in a day but it fell in one.

"God, this guy sure loves his riddles." Peter sighed, but Mozzie didn't answer. He was looking down, his chin resting against his index finger and thumb, eyes fixed on the ground. He was muttering to himself and Peter could only make out a few words.

 _"…can't go to Rome…what is like Rome?...something…New York…fell...one day…"_

Mozzie's mind was working like a computer on overdrive. Peter watched him intently, half-expecting smoke to start coming out of his ears. _That would be a sight,_ he thought, and almost laughed, but stopped himself out of fear to distract Mozzie's "process", as he'd called it. Peter tensed when he heard Mozzie yell, "The Towers!" with his finger pointed up in the air like a kid figuring out a math problem.

The twin towers of course! They were like Rome, which was once the heart of the world in its time. They were the heart of New York, and like Rome, fell in a day.

"Mozzie, you're a genius!" Peter exclaimed.

"Can I get that in writing?" Mozzie replied with a half-hearted smile. Peter just looked at him and rolled his eyes. The relief faded when Peter looked at his watch, now counting down from 23 minutes.

"We have to get to Ground Zero _right now."_ Peter said as he turned his watch to Mozzie.

"That's over five miles away, a twenty minute drive _at least,_ especially with the morning traffic." Mozzie said. Peter felt his adrenaline spike. He had to run back to his car and speed all the way to the memorial, lights flashing, if he had any chance of making it in time.

"Mozzie, I'm sorry, I need to continue alone. I promise I'll keep you in the loop." Peter said, his tone serious. What he said wasn't a question, it was a fact. Mozzie was slightly annoyed he couldn't stay with Peter, but he understood Peter's need to go alone. The note said _just you and me_ , after all, and Mozzie was afraid Peter seeking his help could result in mayhem on the other end. Also, Mozzie could make use of his talents elsewhere, possibly trying to track down the son-of-a-bitch who took Neal. He knew time was running out, so he looked at Peter and said, "Find him, Suit." And walked away, retrieving his sunglasses from his pocket and pulling his hat down once again.

Peter turned and sprinted back toward the MoMA to his parked car. He had no time to spare. He knew if he was one second late, Neal would suffer. After what seemed like forever, he finally reached his car. His watch read 21 minutes. Peter jumped in his car and sped away toward the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel, which he figured to be the fastest way to Ground Zero. He swerved out of the parking lot and skidded as he hit the main road. _You're no good to him if you get in an accident,_ Peter thought, and controlled his nerves as he drove more steadily, although still well above the speed limit.

He was on the road for about fifteen minutes when he felt his phone buzz again.

El.

It was past 8:00am, and she was most likely about to leave for work. Peter wondered if she remembered what he had told her before he left early that morning. He knew he had a lot of things to tell her, but he was hesitant to delve into the details just now, afraid he would worry her. However, the blunt honesty of their marriage made it nearly impossible for Peter to lie to Elizabeth _. The less she knows the better._ He flipped open his phone and answered as casually as possible.

"Hi, hon." He said.

"Peter? How are you? I remember you leaving early. Is everything alright?" El replied, a hint of worry in her tone.

"Everything _will_ be alright." He said calmly, not letting his nerves show. Neal would be impressed at him lying under pressure, especially to his wife. _"I think I'm rubbing off on you."_ Peter sighed at the brief flashback to last night. "Oh Neal…"

"What was that honey? Is Neal with you?" El asked on the other end.

Peter tensed. _Did I really just say that out loud?_

"Uh what? No…actually, he's not. He will be soon." He said, trying to salvage the calmness of the conversation.

El thought for a moment, and although still not convinced, decided not to pry at her husband. He would tell her everything when he got home anyway. "Well, when you see him, remember to tell him he's coming over for dinner tonight. You didn't forget, right honey?" El asked.

Peter gulped. "Yes hon, I will tell him when I see him." _If I see him,_ Peter's negative thoughts resurfaced as he neared Ground Zero.

"I need to go, I will call you as soon as I can. Love you." He didn't wait for her reply as he ended the call. He was about to burst at the seams with guilt—guilt for lying to El, and guilt for Neal. He shook his head, trying to clear the emotions storming in his head, and focused on finding a parking spot. He looked at his watch again—2 minutes, and put on his flashers and jumped out of his car. A parking ticket was the least of his worries. He sprinted toward the memorial. Although it was under construction, Peter couldn't help but admire the beauty of it, despite the melancholy reason for it. He stopped and looked around for anything that might tell him where to go but saw nothing. His watch was counting down seconds now, and he felt his heart drop.

He couldn't help but yell, "I'm here, dammit! I solved it! Show yourself!" He was desperate. He may have solved the clue only to arrive too late. Maybe the man had already hurt Neal and Peter's attempt was in vain. Peter felt a shiver as he heard the phone at his 3 o'clock begin to ring. His watch still had a few seconds remaining, and he sprinted over and picked up the phone. He was met with the same raspy, high voice with a hint of smugness that made Peter's blood boil.

"Well, well, well, cutting it a little close aren't we, Peter?" The voice on the other end said dramatically.

"Alright, I solved your little puzzle. Let me speak to Neal." Peter demanded.

"Now Peter, I told you no harm would come his way if you play my way, remember?" The man asked.

"Yes, I remember. What does that have to do with anything?" Peter asked, curious at what the man was getting at.

The man laughed. "Oh Peter, do you really think I'm that dumb? You have seriously underestimated me."

Peter felt his body tense. The man's demeanor was off, something was wrong. "What are you talking about?" He asked,

There was a long pause. The man released a fake sigh on the other side before saying, "I thought you'd be better than this, Peter. I'm afraid you broke a _rule._ Remember what happens if you break a rule, Peter?" Peter felt his jaw tighten. " _If you break my rules or fail, well, Neal will pay the price."_ Peter shivered when he thought about their first conversation. He decided to try to keep the man talking. _The longer he talks, the longer he is away from Neal._

Peter said calmly, "I'm not sure what you're implying, I haven't broken any rules. I've solved your puzzle, what more do you want?" He tried to sound authoritative, but in reality he knew the man was holding most of the cards, and was getting ready to send them flying in Peter's face.

The man scoffed, "Peter, this will all go by much smoother if you cut the crap. You read the note. _No cops. No feds._ But here you are getting help? Really Peter, I thought you were better than this. It's too bad Neal has to pay for your incompetence."

"Wait wait!" Peter yelled, abandoning the mask on his emotions. "The man I was with, he's…he's not a cop or a Fed…He's about the farthest thing from the sort!" Desperation was evident in his voice.

There was a short silence. Peter heard the man take a deep breath and sigh again.

"That's not the help I was referring to. You're lucky I let that other one slide, I figured it was you being resourceful. I'm talking about your phone conversation to the _FBI_."

Peter's heart dropped. _He knows. He knows about the message to Jones. How? How can someone be this clever? God, this is all my fault. I shouldn't have been so greedy._ Peter felt his eyes start to water. He knew that Neal would suffer for this and the guilt was tearing his heart to shreds.

"Now Peter, I take it from your lack of response that you know _exactly_ what I'm talking about, don't you?" The voice said condescendingly.

Peter tried to keep it together, "No, I don't. I lied to my colleagues. I followed your instructions. I haven't done anything wrong." He was lying through his teeth, trying to channel his inner-Neal. The Neal who could lie his way out of any predicament, who could talk smoothly down the barrel of a gun. Peter wished he had Neal's abilities, but he knew his younger partner was more well-versed in the topic of deception.

"You left out the part about your hidden message in your apparent _lie._ " The man's voice was serious now. He was done playing games. "Just admit it Peter, save Neal some pain. It will only get worse for you, and _him,_ if you continue to lie to me."

Peter was trapped. He couldn't admit that he was lying to Neal's captor though. He only hoped it wouldn't backfire…for Neal's sake.

"For the last time, I did NOT send a message to the FBI!" Peter practically yelled.

He heard the man sigh again through the line. There was another silence that made Peter's anxiety reach his limit. The next thing the man said made his blood turn to ice.

"Then explain why the entire FBI building is digging through files on every case you and Neal have ever worked on?" The man said, more threatening than before. "No response Peter? I didn't think so. It's okay, you don't have to talk. Just listen." The man snickered again. Peter was frozen. _Listen to what?_

Peter listened intently, hearing nothing at first, but became horrified when he heard the man talking again—talking to Neal.

"Wakey, wakey, Mr. Caffrey. Your time is up!" He said cheerfully.

Neal's groan was audible through the phone. Peter wanted to scream. He knew that what was unfolding would result in Neal's suffering…all because of him. He just _had_ to try to get to the FBI, he couldn't follow the rules, and because of that, Neal's blood was on his hands.

" _Unfortunately for you, Neal. Peter wasn't a good listener. I would say I'm sorry to do this, but it really is quite the opposite."_

 _Silence._

 _Footsteps._

 _"No!"_

 _CRACK._

Peter winced at the sound, then slumped against the phone booth at what came right after.

Neal's agonized cry filled the phone. Peter had to pull it away from his ear and covered his mouth as the first tears began streaming down his face. Neal continued to cry out. He was obviously in _agony._ If what the man did to Neal was enough for him to yell like that, it was surely brutal. Peter heard Neal's cries turn to whimpers matched with labored breathing. Peter was helpless on the other end of the phone. He heard Neal speak and his gut twisted at what he heard.

 _"…no please…no more…stop…stop! Stop! I n…need my hand…please stop…"_ his voice faded away.

Silence.

 _Laughing by the man._

 _"Sorry not sorry, Neal."_

 _CRACK._

Neal's screams were worse than the first. He sounded like someone who belonged on a roller coaster, except this roller coaster was filled with pure torture. Peter's tears were falling freely now, and his legs felt like they were beginning to give out. The man was hurting Neal. _His hand, oh God._ Peter flashed back to all the war movies he'd ever seen. The torturers always start with the hands, because there's so much pain to inflict on them. Peter thought of Neal's artwork. _Would he ever be able to make another?_ His thoughts were interrupted when he heard Neal again.

 _"You…you_ fucking _coward!"_ Neal yelled, stronger this time, obviously fueled by adrenaline, pain, and hatred. Peter felt a sense of pride in him. _He's still fighting. Fight for him too._

" _Now, now, be nice, Neal. You sit tight, not like you can do anything else. Let's see how Peter is doing."_ The man said.

As the man walked over, Peter could hear his footsteps approaching, until Neal broke the silence.

 _"Peter! Robert Wesley! Cabin! Woods! Wanted to be an ag—"_ Neal was cut off. Peter heard a _whack_ and the footsteps approached again. Peter assumed the man, who he now knew was someone named Wesley, had knocked Neal out. At least he was out of pain for now. Peter knew Neal would pay for what he said, but if it led Peter to him, Peter might save him before his future of hurt arrived. He heard the phone being picked up.

"Ugh, I knew taking him and keeping him quiet would be a struggle. At least he'll be quiet for a while now." Wesley sighed, then continued, "Well now that you know my name, and you also know what I'm capable of, I think it's time we speed things along."

Peter was livid. He wanted to hunt down the man and inflict the same pain he did to Neal. But he knew not cooperating would lead to more of Neal's pain—his screams, his agony, his injuries. Peter couldn't risk it. He replied, "What now, Wesley?"

"Go home, Peter. There's a surprise waiting for you, and you'll find your next clue there as well." Wesley said, back to his cheery self, seeming unaffected by the torture he just performed. The line clicked, leaving Peter alone in silence once again.

 _A surprise?_ He thought. _Oh God. El._

* * *

OH MY GOD? Can you count the twists? My evilness is just beginning…and I know I said I'd post this in a few days but then I got hooked and couldn't stop writing. I want you guys to tell me what you think! I hate to do this, but I'll post the next chapter when I get TEN more reviews, that's not asking too much right? With this being my first fan fic I want to know what I'm doing well and what I can improve on, and you guys are my best resource for that! So chapter 5 will be posted when I get ten reviews! And if I get them quickly, I will TRY to post it tomorrow…I still need to write it. It will be all from Neal's perspective, I'm sure you'll enjoy it. Like, Follow, Review! :)


	5. Handiwork

I haven't written in 24 hours because I've been playing out possible scenarios for the story and I finally decided which direction to take it in. This chapter will be shorter, it's the previous events from Neal's perspective (poor Neal, but he's a fighter remember?). Chapter 6 will be HUGE, I already know. Luckily I have all day to write it after school!

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

Handiwork

 _Sometime past 8:00am, Wesley's cabin._

Neal felt himself waking from his unconscious state. He blinked his eyes open, squinting as he looked at his surroundings and remembering where he was. The pain in his head was beginning to subside, however the pain in his shoulders and neck from having his arms tied above him was becoming unbearable. He wanted to adjust his position, but with his back to the post, there was no place he could move. The wire was still digging into his already raw wrists, and he winced as he tried to get the blood circulating back into his hands and arms.

As his weariness faded almost completely, he started to remember what had happened before he blacked out. _Wesley. Peter. Phone call._ He thought for a moment. _The black case on the table._ His eyes darted at the table and he stared in shock at the devices strapped into the case, having completely forgotten about what awaited him.

 _"What are you going to do with those?!"_

 _"In 28 minutes, you'll find out."_

He looked at the timer and his adrenaline spiked as he realized there were only a few precious minutes left until Wesley had his way. Neal had high hopes to begin with, especially after talking to Peter, but as the minutes ticked by he felt himself slipping into despair, however, not for his own situation. He was worried about Peter and what Wesley was forcing him to do, how he was using Neal as motivation— _motivation that worked—_ and how Peter was willing to do anything to make sure Neal wouldn't get hurt. He feared that Peter would end up giving himself up in order to spare Neal, and he would have to live with the guilt that Peter traded his life for his own. Neal didn't want to get hurt, he hated anything to do with violence. But the thought of Peter getting hurt _because of him_ was worse than any form of torture. He regretted all the times he hadn't told Peter how he really felt, or the times he said a sly comment back to him when Peter was genuinely trying to compliment his abilities. _No more car rides. No more cases. No more dinners with Elizabeth._ Neal felt his eyes start to water as he thought about life without Peter, because he now convinced himself that one of them won't make it out alive. Wesley holds the cards, and there's only one endgame in his mind, and that is to beat Peter, whether physically or mentally. Peter wasn't going to give up until Neal was safe, and he was willing to pay the price of his life. _Why does he have to be so stubborn?_ Neal thought. _But if he were here, he'd say_ I _was the stubborn one._ Neal tried to force a smile, but was shaken out of his thoughts when the timer rung out on the table.

 _Pretend you're still unconscious._

It was his best bet, at least it would delay what was to come, even if it was just for a few seconds. He heard footsteps behind him. Wesley must have been in a room that Neal couldn't see. Wesley didn't acknowledge Neal as he walked by him toward the phone, apparently believing in Neal's unconsciousness. Neal heard him dial the phone, and felt his skin shiver at the sound of Wesley's voice—he still wasn't used to it. Neal tried to listen to the phone conversation that was most likely with Peter, but was disappointed as Wesley stepped into the other room and shut the door.

Neal was left in silence. He hoped Peter had solved whatever he needed to solve, and that he was one step closer to finding him, but he had a gut feeling that his hopes were untrue and in vain. He just wished he could be back within his two-mile radius with his apartment, the FBI building, June, Mozzie, Elizabeth, his _normal life._ He'd never wanted to be back on his anklet more than he did right now. That anklet was security for him. Neal knew that someone was always watching his back, which was comforting in its own strange way. Neal knew if he was in trouble, Peter would just track him down, _like he always does,_ and find him. But Neal was without his anklet and without hope for the time being. _Stop doubting him. Peter has found me twice without my anklet, he can do it again._

 _"I think this makes me 3 and 0."_ Neal could practically picture Peter joking with him as he walked through the door, taking out Wesley and rescuing Neal. His hopes were interrupted when Wesley opened the door to the other room. Neal slumped back down and caught a few lines of what Wesley was saying to Peter. The annoyed tone in his voice was worrisome, but Neal hoped that Peter had just pissed him off by outsmarting him.

"… _you don't have to talk. Just listen."_ Wesley said to Peter. He placed the phone on the table and began walking over to Neal, who was still "unconscious."

"Wakey, wakey Mr. Caffrey. Your time is up!" Wesley said as he stood over Neal. He grabbed a fistful of hair and jerked Neal's head upward. The fast movement made Neal's head spin, and the sharp pain that radiated from his neck and shoulders caused him to groan. Although he did everything in his willpower not to, the discomfort was too much for him, and he couldn't help make a sound. He reluctantly opened his eyes and looked up at Wesley, who was grinning down at him, like a predator waiting to pounce on his prey. Neal swallowed, trying to calm his now shaking body.

He released Neal's head and said, "Unfortunately for you, Neal. Peter wasn't a good listener. I would say I'm sorry to do this, but it really is quite the opposite." Neal saw Wesley walk over to the case and take out a pair of pliers. Neal's heart began to thud in his chest and his breath quickened as Wesley walked back over to him. Wesley stepped behind him, out of his view, but Neal felt him grab his right hand, wincing as the wire dug into his skin. He felt Wesley place the jaws of the pliers around his hand—the top jaw resting on the top of Neal's index knuckle, and the bottom directly underneath on the other side of his hand. Neal knew this was not good.

"No!" Neal yelled, but it was too late. He felt the dull pressure of the jaws pushing against his knuckle bone increase as Wesley squeezed the plier handles together. Before he knew it, Neal heard a loud _crack_ and he couldn't stop himself from screaming at the agony that soon consumed his body. He pulled at his restraints, no longer noticing the wire cutting open his skin. His only instinct was to grab his hand and pull it into his chest, but he couldn't do that and he could already feel his hand swelling. His screams seemed to echo throughout the small cabin, and Neal did his best to calm himself. After a few moments, the initial agony inflicted by his now broken knuckle began to die down, but was replaced by a throbbing sensation that sent chords of pain all throughout his body. Neal couldn't help but whimper as he struggled to catch his breath. He knew Peter was listening, and he felt pitiful over the fact that he couldn't contain himself. _It just hurts so much._ Neal thought that nothing could be worse than the pain he was experiencing right now, but his mind went into pure terror when he felt Wesley grab his hand once again. _He's not done. Oh my God he's not done._ Neal felt the pliers get repositioned around the base of his thumb. The nausea began to sweep over him as the thought of the pain to come entered his mind.

Neal couldn't help but beg, _"_ …no please…no more…stop…stop! Stop! I n…need my hand…please stop…" He felt so weak and helpless. He hoped his pleading would get Wesley to reconsider, especially since Neal was _already_ suffering, but what Neal said only seemed to fuel his desire.

He just laughed and replied, "Sorry not sorry, Neal."

Neal thought the first broken bone was bad—no, _unbearable_ —but it was nothing compared to the next. He felt the pliers squeeze down on the base of his thumb as he began to wince in preparation. Then the all familiar _crack_ filled the room, followed by Neal's unrestrained cry of absolute, unbearable misery. Wesley just smiled down at his handiwork, seemingly satisfied. Neal could feel the throbbing of his hand pulsing through his whole body and pounding in his ears. He was still breathing heavily, allowing the occasional unwanted groan of pain to escape his lips. The only thing worse than the physical pain he was experiencing was the thought of Peter listening on the other end of the phone—listening to _all of it._ Neal felt his rage build up inside him, starting to dull the pain radiating throughout his body. Before he knew it, the adrenaline, rage, and pain pushed him over the edge.

"You _fucking_ coward!" He yelled, looking Wesley straight in the eyes. This was the first time Neal looked at him closely. He examined his features, remembering every detail, every pore, and every hair that he could use to sketch for the FBI when he was free — if _he was ever free._ Oh, and _if_ he could even _sketch_ with his now broken and swollen fingers. Despite that thought, he continued to analyze Wesley, staring at him with a look of anger and vengeance. His green eyes stood out among his particularly pale features. His hair was white, however he wasn't very old. Neal guessed him to be nearing 45 or 50, but age had not been kind to him. The crow's feet weaved away from his eyes like cracks in ice, and his skin gave off evidence of sun damage. He was smaller than Neal, under 6 feet, but he made up for the lack of physical threat with his mind and psychopathic tendencies. The way he laughed and talked was enough to intimidate anyone, and his mind games were those of pure genius. _If only he'd put his mind to better use. Oh yeah, he tried…_ Neal remembered that Wesley wanted to be an agent, but obviously failed at doing so, probably getting removed for being insane.

Wesley took the insult and looked down at him disapprovingly. He said, "Now, now, be nice, Neal. You sit tight, not like you can do anything else. Let's see how Peter is doing." Neal saw Wesley begin to walk over to the phone.

 _Peter can still hear me._

Neal instinctively shouted anything that would help Peter.

"Peter!"He said, as Wesley turned around, a look of surprise on his face. Neal continued as Wesley neared him with a look of annoyance and shock, "Robert Wesley! Cabin! Woods! Wanted to be an ag—"

 _Whack!_

Before he finished, Neal saw Wesley grab the pipe— _the same pipe from before—_ and swing at him, striking him on the side of the head. Neal's vision immediately turned black, and he didn't feel himself slump over and disappear into unconsciousness.

He also didn't hear what Wesley said to Peter.

"…there's a surprise waiting for you…"

 _TBC_

* * *

This was shorter than the others, like I said, but I felt it was necessary to get Neal's perspective on what Wesley did to him, both physically and emotionally. Chapter 6 is going to be a bombshell, I already know, and I think it will be well worth the wait. Thanks for being patient (although I do feel I update pretty quickly right? Especially since I'm writing this as we go) and thanks for the reviews! Please continue to tell me what you like, don't like, and want to see! I do my best to accommodate any requests! Chapter 6 will be posted ASAP, I'm going to try to take my time to make it is as good and well-written as possible…there is going to be SO MUCH HAPPENING. HINT: Peter and Neal reunification coming soon—although that may not be for the best… *cue dramatic music*


	6. Turn the Tables

I am so sorry about this taking a few days oh my gosh. I had everything on my computer then it crashed and I lost it all! This was supposed to be longer with more happening toward the end but I decided to split it into two chapters so I could post this instead of keep you hanging for the next two days. I had to write this on my phone so if formatting is lame I'm sorry! I'll fix it when I get my computer. Thanks for the patience though...enjoy :)

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

Turn the Tables

Peter hung up the phone, slamming it loudly and gripping the side of it as he felt his legs begin to wobble. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm his quivering body and rage-filled mind. He wiped away the now-drying tears, holding his face in his hands for a moment as the replay of Neal's screams echoed in his head and the worry for Elizabeth began to overpower him. He pulled out his cell phone from his jacket pocket, hands still shaking, and held it up to his ear.

" _Please_ tell me you've got something." He said to Mozzie on the other end, who had been there since the phone conversation with Wesley started. Peter texted him the moment Wesley called. " _Trace? Phone #206-620-7878 Ground Zero."_ Peter had doubted Mozzie's abilities in the past, but after seeing some of the things he could pull off with Neal, he figured it was his best chance to ask him instead of risking contacting the FBI again. Mozzie replied through text, " _Take off right side panel. Plug USB cable into phone, strip wire, and wrap it around the base of the incoming call port."_ Peter read it and rolled his eyes, of course it had to be complicated. He was still talking with Wesley while simultaneously stripping the phone chord with his teeth. He jimmied open the side panel with his car key and quickly wrapped the exposed wire around the metal base. _"Jeez MacGyver, where'd you learn that?"_ He could imagine Neal asking him when he told him what he had done. Peter internally smiled at the thought, and he felt more positivity growing inside him as Mozzie called him and simply said, _"Tracing…"_ but Peter's happiness wore off when Wesley's evil voice bit through the phone.

" _…I'm afraid you broke a_ rule…"

The rest of the phone call was absolute misery. Peter had never felt more guilt, sorrow, and horror in his life. These emotions increased dramatically at what Wesley said last.

"Go home, Peter. There's a surprise waiting for you, and you'll find your next clue there as well."

It took everything Peter had not to abandon the trace and rush home, but he knew he had to find out if Mozzie had located where the call was coming from if he ever wanted to find Neal. He started jogging back to his car while waiting for Mozzie to answer. After a few tense moments and a few "ah's" and "um's" from Mozzie, he finally replied, "Well I've got _something."_ and sighed.

"What does that mean?" Peter asked impatiently.

"Well, Suit, as you can see I'm not the FBI, so _obviously_ my tracing capabilities are much lower, especially back-dooring it through a payphone." He took a pause. " _But,_ I was able to trace it to a five mile radius. He's somewhere in LaTourette Park in Staten Island, which isn't really a park…just a giant area with trees everywhere and a few secluded houses." Mozzie said.

Peter was relieved. It was better than _nothing_ , and the way he was feeling he was willing to singlehandedly walk through the entire forest to find Neal. He was still jogging as he said, "Thanks, Mozzie. This means a lot."

"Yeah, well don't get used to it Suit. As soon as you find Neal my favors are over." Mozzie's tone was lacking emotion yet filled with it all at once. Peter could tell he was worried about Neal, and he didn't want to tell Mozzie what he had witnessed through the phone. Mozzie surely heard Peter's reactions to the events unfolding, and he was left only to assume what caused it.

Peter reached his car, still parked in the middle of the street, and said, "Mozzie, I need to get home ASAP. I'm afraid Wesley may have done something with El…he said there's a ' _surprise waiting for me'_ as well as the next clue. And after what he did to Neal…I'm afraid that he'll…never mind, not important, but I'm over a half hour away and…I feel terrible asking, but—" He was cut off by Mozzie.

To Peter's surprise, Mozzie said, "I'll be at your house in five minutes. I started making my way over after we parted ways…I feared this might happen…" There was sincerity in Mozzie's voice that he'd never heard before. No matter how Mozzie felt about him, Peter knew he had a soft spot for Elizabeth. Relief flooded over Peter as he began to drive away, quickly accelerating to well over the speed limit as he turned toward the tunnel.

* * *

After hanging up with Peter, Mozzie started toward Peter's house from the internet café he was laying low at. He stuffed his laptop and gear into a duffle bag and hastily put the strap around his shoulder as he exited the building. As he half-walked, half-jogged toward Peter's house, he made a quick stop to grab a navy blue windbreaker that was hanging outside of a person's house. He slipped it on and put his hat and glasses back on his head. _"Wonder where you got that idea from?"_ He imagined Neal asking after they found him. Mozzie half smiled as he remembered Neal telling him about his prison escape, where he grabbed a yellow windbreaker and imitated airport valet to steal a car. Mozzie's smile turned to a frown as he thought about Neal right now. Right now he was being held against his will, being used for blackmail, and suffering the wrath of an insane psychopath. Mozzie didn't know what had occurred on the other end of the phone, but he knew it was bad because he could hear Peter struggling to keep his composure. He shook the thoughts out of his head as he turned onto Peter's street. His stomach tightened as he noticed a white panel van across the street from the Burke's house. _That doesn't mean anything. That could be there for any number of logical reasons._ Mozzie tried to convince himself, but knew it was in vain. He finally reached the porch, dropping his duffel bag to the side in the bushes and composing himself for what he what he was about to do. He zipped up his jacket, adjusted his hat, and rang the doorbell.

No answer.

He rang it again. This time yelling, "Department of Health and Safety! Need to talk to you about some new regulations."

 _Still no answer._ Except this time Mozzie swore he heard movement on the other side. It was faint, and he could've imagined it, but he wasn't taking any chances. He took a deep breath, unsure of what was on the other side, and put his hand on the door knob. He had no defense except his words, which he hoped would be enough for whatever awaited him. He twisted the knob and found it to turn freely. He pushed open the door and peaked his head in. After not seeing anything, he guessed Elizabeth had already gone to work. Still, he cautiously stepped inside and asked, "Hello? Anyone home?"

Nothing.

He kept walking. "I really need to talk to you about the new regu—" Mozzie was stopped as he felt himself being hit hard in the back by something solid. He stumbled to his knees and turned around with his hands raised, still playing the role of the innocent health inspector.

"Wait, _wait!"_ He yelled as his eyes moved up toward his attacker.

"Oh my God, Mozzie?!" Elizabeth yelled back, her voice partially relieved but still filled with fear.

"Yeah, Elizabeth it's me. I…ow…" He started to stand. "That's a serious swing you have. Care to explain?" he said, motioning toward the fire poker in her hand.

Elizabeth grabbed Mozzie's arm and helped him up, a look of concern and amusement simultaneously filled her face. Once he was standing she said, "Come with me."

Mozzie raised his eyebrows at her, and she just gave him a look that said " _Just do as I say."_ He followed her, still confused at what was going on, and froze at what he saw in the kitchen. There was a man lying on the floor, hands tied behind his back, his eyes closed. There was a bruise beginning to form under his eye and his body looked rigid.

"Jesus Christ Elizabeth did you kill him?" Mozzie asked, bewildered.

"No! He's just unconscious. That's what 50,000 volts will do to you." She said, a smirk tugging at her lips as she held up the Taser Peter had given her a while back. Mozzie stared at her in shock.

"What the _hell_ happened here?" he asked, stepping over broken glass.

Elizabeth sighed, then began, "I had just gotten off the phone with Peter. I knew something was off, but he didn't elaborate and I just figured it was something with work. I was about to open the front door to leave when this guy barged in," she said, motioning to the unconscious man, "He was trying to grab me and I tried to back up. He pushed me up against the wall and held my shoulders, but he didn't see what I was holding in my right hand. I swung up at him, hitting him just under his eye with the small, yet quite heavy glass vase I _was_ going to show to a client. He let go of me and stumbled back. That's when I took the Taser out of my purse and rammed it into his chest. He went down like a ton of bricks." She said, evidently proud of what she had done.

Mozzie stared at her in shock, "Remind me never to mess with you, like ever." Elizabeth laughed.

"So what are we going to do with him?" Elizabeth asked, slightly worried, and still confused at what was going on.

Mozzie replied, "Peter will be here in under a half hour, probably twenty minutes without regard to traffic laws, so we'll just sit tight. There's a lot you don't know and I think Peter should be the one to explain it to you." Elizabeth just nodded, the initial shock wearing off as she began to comprehend the reality of the situation.

Mozzie could sense her discomfort and said, "You know Peter is going to make this all right. Everything will be fine once he gets here." He hid the obvious displeasure of complimenting Peter, however he knew there was truth to his statement. If anyone could find Neal, it was Peter, and Mozzie knew that although he may not want to admit it. Elizabeth and Mozzie began cleaning up the house, trying to pass the time as they anxiously awaited Peter's arrival. El had just finished throwing away the remaining shards of broken glass when she heard the door open.

"El?!" Peter yelled, quickly walking toward the kitchen. Relief flooded over him when he caught sight of his wife, who embraced him immediately. His relief turned to confusion when he looked down at the man on the floor.

"Hon…what happened?" He asked, concerned.

Mozzie interjected, "What happened Suit, is that your wife is a _badass._ This guy didn't know what hit him." El smiled at Mozzie's response. She turned to face her husband and her smile faded as she saw his face still wore the expression of guilt and worry, as well as another she couldn't quite place.

She put her hands on his head, her thumbs rubbing his cheeks. She could feel the stickiness of his skin and saw the redness of his eyes and she could tell he'd been crying. _But Peter doesn't cry?_ Her heart began to ache and she immediately asked him to explain what had happened over the past three hours.

Reluctantly, Peter told her everything. June's phone call, the picture, the clue, the MoMA with the first phone call, the second clue, Mozzie, Ground Zero, the second phone call…Peter shuddered, putting his head in his hands again and attempting to rub the weariness from his face. He told her what he heard over the phone and Elizabeth gasped at the thought of Neal being _tortured._ She grabbed a tissue and wiped her now watering eyes. She looked over at Mozzie, who was staring off into the distance in shock. He hadn't realized that what the man had done to Neal was _that_ bad. Peter continued, telling them the man was Robert Wesley, that Neal was in a cabin in the woods, and that Wesley wanted to be an agent…most likely.

"How did you find this out?" El asked.

"Neal." Peter said. "Even after what he experienced he was still able to help me. He shouted out as much as he could but was cut off. He didn't get the last word out but I am positive he was trying to say 'agent'."

"So how will you find him?" El asked, still visibly shaken.

Mozzie replied, "I was able to trace to a five mile radius in LaTourette Park in Staten Island."

"I know where that is!" El said excitedly. "My company held an event out there at a golf course. There's woods surrounding it in almost every direction."

"That's great honey." Peter said. "We'll pull up a map and see if you remember where a cabin like Wesley's might be."

Just then, Peter remembered that Wesley said there would be a clue for him. Right when the thought entered his mind he felt his phone buzz. He opened it, to reveal a message from a blocked number.

 _PB-_

 _Looks like your wife is stronger than I thought. You may think this has disrupted my plans, however, every good chess player always has a contingency plan. I say it's time we meet in person. You will come alone and you will tell no one, you already know I am watching you, so don't try to pull a fast one like before…we all know where that ends up. I think it is time we face each other one on one, face to face, the way this test truly ought to be. Once you are a good distance away from your house I will send you the coordinates. If you tell anyone, Neal dies. If you contact the FBI, Neal dies. If you enlist help of your little friend, Neal dies. Do I make myself clear?_

Peter looked up from his phone and saw both Mozzie and El staring at him in anticipation.

"Uh..." Peter began, but wasn't sure how to proceed. He looked at El, then to Mozzie, before saying, "I uh...I have to go."

Mozzie looked at him questioningly and said, "Peter...what the hell? What happened?"

Peter ignored the question and replied, "While I'm gone, you're the boss. Don't feel the need to find a suit though." He faked a laugh, doing it for show...for Wesley's show. However he made sure his eyes were locked wth Mozzie's, secretly telling him to not listen to the literal meaning of what he was saying.

Mozzie just nodded and Peter soon disappeared out the front door, but not before he put his extra pair of cuffs on the unconscious man. He was conflicted about leaving him with El and Mozzie, but if his plan worked and Mozzie understood what he was trying to say, they wouldn't have to worry about him for long.

"Can someone please explain to me what the hell that was?" Elizabeth said, not hiding her frustration and confusion.

"I need my laptop. Right now." was all Mozzie said as he disappeared out the front door as well, returning a few seconds later with a duffel bag. He sat down next to Elizabeth and began taking out his gear.

He could tell she was growing uneasy. He looked at her and said, "Just trust me, okay?"

* * *

Peter started driving toward Staten Island and was relieved when he received the text from Wesley.

The coordinates were right near LaTourette Park, which is what he expected. He felt his heart rate increase as he thought about seeing Neal. He just wanted to get him out of there, to tell him he's safe, and to hear his voice again. He hadn't realized how much of an impact Neal made on his daily life. He had taken for granted all of the sarcastic comments, half-hearted insults, and moments of sincerity. But now, the thought of losing them was too much to handle. Peter tried to think more positive, but the thought of Neal going through what he was going through tore at his heart. He was about an hour away unfortunately, and he just prayed that Neal could hang on that long.

He also prayed that Mozzie had his back, because without him, neither him nor Neal would be getting out of there alive.

* * *

The first thing Neal was aware of was pain. The aching in his head from the pipe-the three hits-was nothing compared to the agony radiating from his hand. His hands were still tied above him, and although they were nearly numb from lack of circulation, he could still feel his pulse pounding off the walls of his swollen fingers. His right hand was shaking uncontrollably, most likely his body going into partial shock from the pain, and he couldn't keep himself from crying out. Every breath he took was accompanied by a pained gasp or moan, although that was the last thing he wanted to do because he didn't want Wesley to know he was awake. However, his efforts were futile, and Wesley strolled in a few moments after Neal had woken up. He walked over to Neal and crouched down to his level. He reached out his hand and pushed a few sweaty strands of Neal's hair out of his eyes, stroking his cheek before removing his hand. Neal tensed and tried to jerk his head away, but let out another restrained cry as his hand moved again, continuing to tremble against the restraints above him. The pain itself was worse enough, but just having to look at Wesley pushed him over the limit. He closed his eyes and leaned his head up against the support post, trying to get Wesley to leave him alone, but he couldn't hide the twisted expression of pain on his face.

Wesley stood up, a look of surprise covering his face. "I thought you were stronger than that Neal, I mean a few broken bones? I could have-" he stopped suddenly as he examined Neal's hand.

Neal winced and let out a sharp gasp as Wesley gingerly touched his fingers. Neal was confused when Wesley said, "Oh my God..."

"What? What is it?" Neal said with a pained breath.

For the first time, Wesley was serious. Unguarded. Actually showing human emotion. He said, "Neal, I...I didn't expect this to happen. I'm sorry."

 _He gets a kick out of torturing me and NOW he's SORRY? What kind of bipolar piece of sh-_ "Ah! Ow! What the hell!?" Neal yelled as Wesley untwisted the wire around his right hand and maneuvered his hand out of the restraint. As soon as his hand was free, he immediately and instinctively brought his hand to his lap, curling his torso over it and trying to catch his breath. He eventually leaned back and looked at his hand to take in the damage. He gasped in shock at what he saw.

His hand was swollen- _very_ swollen, which was expected. His thumb and index finger were turning purple, bruises from the injury inflicted on them, which was expected too. But what shocked him the most was the deep purple color of his veins leading away from his hand. What concerned him even more was the splotchy discoloration of his arm. He turned his head away and looked up at Wesley with tear-filled eyes.

He choked out, "What...what did you do to me?"

Wesley looked at him with actual sympathy, and replied, "I broke two bones in your hand. It was meant to hurt a lot but those heal easily. You need to remember I'm not doing this to hurt you...per se, but I'm doing this to hurt Peter." He paused. "With your hand above you like that for the past hour and a half, it must have formed a blood clot."

 _Oh God, is this the way I die? Seriously?_

"But don't worry Neal. This will be over soon, one way or another. If you get out of here they'll treat you at a hospital and you'll be fine. If Peter fails, well, let's just say I'll make it painless for you." Neal gulped at Wesley's words.

Wesley continued, "I can tell you are killing yourself with overthinking, so I'll save you some hassle. Peter will be here soon. I thought it was time we all got face to face." The flicker of emotion that showed in Wesley just minutes ago faded in an instant as he said, "I hope you know I'm better than Peter and have prepared yourself for the inevitable. Don't worry, you don't have to watch." Neal tensed again. Wesley must have lured Peter here, and of course Peter would come for the sake of Neal. Neal just hoped that Peter had some form of backup, because he hated to admit it, but Wesley was unbeatable alone.

Neal tried to calm himself by closing his eyes and envisioning Peter coming to rescue him. He imagined telling him how he trusted him the whole time and how Peter shouldn't feel guilty about anything that happened. He imagined simply embracing him and feeling at home once again. His thoughts were interrupted when Wesley interjected, "I'll be back Neal, it's time to go get our mutual friend." and walked out the door, leaving Neal in silence.

 _Peter, if you can hear me...please bring backup_. Neal pleaded as he closed his eyes again, trying to imagine the happy reunion that wouldn't happen if Peter didn't bring help.

 _TBC_

* * *

once again, I'm sorry about not posting as much as I wanted to. I promise chapter 7 will be the best of all of them. I know this has been slow, but stick with me...PETER AND NEAL REUNION is coming! I have missed them together so much, it is so hard to write about them separately. Also, are you curious about Mozzie's plan? What's up with the FBI? Can Peter really outsmart this psychopath? Reviews make me happy!


	7. Sacrifice

Okay my computer is back! Here is a monster chapter, all about Peter and Neal! (Happy applause). I was almost done hurting Neal, but a lot of you guys like it, so there's Neal whump, Peter whump, and lots of emotion packed into this chapter. There is still a lot that needs to happen, and I promise you won't be disappointed! Any mistakes are mine...I haven't proofread it thoroughly because I wanted to post it! Enjoy!

 **Chapter 7**

Sacrifice

As Peter's GPS told him he had reached his destination, he began to feel the adrenaline course through his body. His palms were sweating, his face was hot, and he couldn't keep his heart from beating uncontrollably fast. He stopped in the middle of a deserted dirt lot and parked. The lot was approximately the size of a soccer field filled with patchy shrubs and trees, and surrounded by huge pines that obscured visibility both in and out. Peter stepped out of his car, checking his gun on his right hip and making sure his phone was in his jacket pocket. He knew this was a trap, but he also knew he had to play along in order to get Neal back to safety, even if it cost him his own. He closed the driver side door and took a few steps to the front of his car, crossing his arms and looking out into the field as he waited for Wesley to make his appearance.

Right on schedule, Wesley emerged from the surrounding trees, walking casually toward Peter, smiling. Once he was about ten feet away, he stopped. Peter immediately raised his gun at him, and Wesley raised his hands, a look of fake surprise written across his face.

"Oh c'mon Peter, enough with the theatrics. We both know how this needs to go down." Wesley said smugly.

Peter didn't flinch. He kept his gun pointed right at Wesley's chest.

Wesley went on, "You really don't remember me, do you? I'm a little hurt."

Peter finally replied, "Who the hell are you? You wanted to be an agent? What does this have to do with me?" in his most authoritative voice he could muster.

"Quantico, Peter. I was good enough to graduate, but...but those damn assholes on the board dismissed me three weeks before I would've been an agent. You testified against me. Is this coming back to you now?"

Peter had completely forgotten about him. Wesley was among many others at Quantico when Peter was there as well. He was smart, but he also worried many of the other candidates with his unpredictability. Once, another candidate told him he would never want to be his partner, and Wesley punched him, breaking his nose. He received disciplinary action that resulted in keeping a close eye on him. That only made him more delusional. He would talk in his sleep about people out to get him, how he trusted no one, and how he'd wreak havoc on anyone who stood in his way. _Whatever that meant_. Eventually, his delusions went past the point of talking, and in the middle of training, Wesley grabbed the candidate next to him and held a knife to his throat because the candidate told him he'd never pass the final exam due to his mental issues. Eventually he released the man, but not before leaving a gash on his throat that would scar. Peter witnessed the event closely and testified against him, resulting in Wesley's removal from Quantico and his imprisonment for attempted murder, crushing his dreams of becoming an agent.

"The reason you didn't become an agent isn't because of me. You almost killed a man." Peter said.

"No, you are wrong. You are at fault, you could've defended me. You heard what the other candidate was saying to me." Wesley paused. "And not to mention I was a damn good candidate, Peter, better than you. I received the highest marks in every category, and you knew this, but you didn't hesitate to throw me to the wolves because of one little slip up. You were the second highest in class, and you just couldn't wait to be number one." Wesley said with a hint of anger in his voice.

Peter replied, "Listen-" but was cut off when Wesley said, "No, your time is up. It's time for you to experience what I've been waiting for...for me to prove that I would've been a better agent than you. Now drop your gun."

"I'm not going to do that." Peter said sharply.

Wesley tilted his head and replied enthusiastically, "Oh yes you will, because if you don't..." He pulled a device out of his pocket, "Neal gets blown to bits." He smiled. "I'm giving you three seconds to decide. Do you want to see Neal alive or do you want to collect him in a bucket?"

"What if I just shoot you now and go get Neal?" Peter asked.

"Well if I don't send a message to my associate in two minutes, he activates the charge." Wesley replied.

Peter bit his lip, hiding his frustration. Reluctantly he lowered his gun and dropped it to the ground.

"Very good." Wesley said. "Now kick it over here."

Peter complied. "Now take out your phone and break it." Wesley demanded.

Once again, Peter did as he was told. He took out his phone, dropped it, then stomped his foot on it, shattering the now black screen.

"Very good, Peter. It looks like your listening skills have improved." Wesley laughed in an evil way. Peter just grimaced at the fact he had to take orders from this psychopath.

"Now, let's get down to business. Come with me. Neal is growing impatient." Wesley said.

Peter perked up at the thought of seeing Neal. Wesley led him away with the gun pointed at his back. Peter turned around to see his shattered phone on the ground.

They walked for a few minutes until they approached a small cabin surrounded by trees. Peter stopped outside the door, afraid and anxious to see what was inside. He hadn't heard from Neal in nearly two hours, and he knew he could not be in good shape, especially after what he heard on the phone call. Hesitantly, Peter opened the door with Wesley still behind him and felt his heart break at what he saw.

Neal's head was slumped against his chest, his face still covered in blood which was now crusted and peeling. There was a bruise just above his eye, probably from the hit he received after giving Peter information over the phone. Peter couldn't see the gash on the other side of his head, but he could tell Neal's hair was matted and stuck together with now dried blood. Peter saw his left hand was tied above him with wire. His wrist was completely raw, with several distinct lines from the wire. Peter caught his breath as he saw Neal's right hand, sitting limply in his lap. It was twice its normal size and turning a deep purple color. After seeing that, Peter ran over to him.

"Neal!" he said as he reached him and kneeled down to his level. He cupped his chin in his left hand and held the side of his face with his right. He looked at his battered partner and felt guilt ripping through his heart. "Neal. I'm hear buddy. Can you hear me?" Peter pleaded. To his relief, two blue eyes blinked open and stared back at him. Neal's eyes widened when he saw Peter in front of him, not believing that he was actually here.

Neal felt relief flood over him as he realized Peter was finally with him. All the pain seemed to fade away as he stared up at his partner's deep brown eyes. He finally felt his hope become restored that both of them would get home to safety.

Peter, still holding Neal's head, said, "Listen Neal, I promise you will get out of here. I promise I-" Neal flinched as Peter collapsed in front of him. He looked up in horror to see Wesley standing over Peter with the infamous metal pipe. He looked back over Peter, his head was just a few inches away. If his hand wasn't injured he could've reached out to touch him. Neal felt helpless, but relieved as Peter moved his hand up to the back of his head and groaned. _He's still conscious, thank God_ , Neal thought. Peter gingerly rolled over to his back and began sitting up.

"You're a real asshole, you know that Wesley?" Peter snapped, now sitting up completely.

"Don't get too feisty Peter, we don't have time for that." Wesley said back. "Now do me a favor and take the cuffs out of your pocket and cuff yourself to that post over there."

"Why?" Peter asked, trying to buy time.

Wesley looked at Peter, then down at Neal, and without warning he swung the metal pipe at Neal, making contact with his exposed left side. Neal cried out and Peter could see his body curling in pain. Neal let out several pained breaths as he tried to calm himself.

"This…" Wesley said, pointing at Neal with the pipe, "This is why." Peter could feel the rage building inside him. He wanted to kill Wesley with his own hands. However that thought dissipated when Wesley raised his gun at Neal. "Don't try anything Peter. Just do as I say and it will all go smoothly, kay?" Wesley said with a hint of sarcasm.

"Peter…" Neal panted, "Don't listen to him. You…you can still get out of here. You can—" The metal pipe was swung into his already bruised ribs again. Neal restrained from crying out, but tensed and was left whimpering with every breath he took.

"Neal, I suggest you stop talking." Wesley said. "This is between me and Peter, and I don't want to hurt you for any unnecessary reason. Now Peter, please do the honors." He said, motioning toward the cuffs in Peter's hand.

Peter walked over the other support post in the cabin and cuffed himself. He looked up at Wesley in disgust and shame, then back at Neal with guilt and sympathy. Peter then glanced around, noting a single open door to his left. His eyes widened in astonishment. Wesley's room was filled with state of the art equipment, with screens showing video surveillance, audio records, and location trackers.

Peter looked back at Wesley and asked, "How is that possible?"

Wesley scoffed. "I told you I would've been a great agent. I have my resources. But, it's time to get down to business, for lack of a better cliché."

"Why am I here?" Peter asked.

"I'm going to prove once and for all that I'm better than you, Peter." Wesley replied.

"Seriously? That's what all this is about? You really are psychotic!" Peter practically yelled.

At that, Wesley walked over, gun drawn at Peter, and pushed the barrel of it to Peter's forehead. "Don't say something you may regret. That's the only advice I can give you." Wesley said. He lowered the gun and stuffed it in his pants. With Peter restrained he couldn't resist, and he punched him hard in the abdomen. Peter doubled over, coughing as he tried to catch his breath.

"Alright, now that's out of my system, it's time to answer a few questions. If you answer them wrong, Neal suffers." Wesley said with a small smile. "Let's see how smart you really are."

Wesley strolled back over to Neal, putting the pipe down and taking a syringe with yellow liquid out of the case on the table. Peter hadn't noticed it when he walked in because he was preoccupied with Neal, but now he looked at the case with horror. _Neal's had to look at that all day._

"Wait! What is that?" Peter pleaded.

"Oh just something that will only be fun for one of us." Wesley said, giggling slightly. "I'll start with an easy question, or riddles, as people like to call them. " _What is as big as you are but doesn't weigh anything?_ " Wesley asked.

Peter thought for a moment, then remembered being told this riddle as a child. _This guy really is insane. I mean, riddles? Seriously? I can't believe I'm actually doing this._ "My shadow." He replied coldly. "Can we move this along please?" Peter said impatiently.

Wesley looked at him, smiling, and said, " _I can run but I can't walk, a mouth but I can't talk, a head but I can't think, a bed but I can't sleep. What am I?"_ He raised his eyebrows at Peter, who looked down at the ground. "Stumped already? I told you I was better, I told everyone I was better and smarter, but no one believed me."

Peter tried to think about what he said but it didn't seem to make any sense. He was a great agent, he knew that, but playing mind games with brain teasers just wasn't his cup of tea, and now Neal would face the wrath of this psychopath because he couldn't figure it out. Wesley began walking over to Neal, the syringe in his hand. "Really, Peter? _Nothing_?" he said as he started to move the syringe toward Neal's neck. Neal jerked his head away and yelled, "A river! God dammit, a river!"

Wesley stood up. "Ugh, Neal, you are no fun. This is Peter's game, remember? Now I need to make sure you stay quiet." Wesley said as he ripped a piece of duct tape from the roll in the kitchen drawer and placed it over Neal's mouth. He patted Neal's cheek, who winced and glared at him, before standing up again.

"Well, your pet has given you a free one. But you're on your own now. I hope you're paying attention to the answers by the way, they may come in handy." Wesley said, looking toward Peter, who was still restrained against the post with his _own_ handcuffs.

Wesley continued, " _You can hold this without using your hands or arms_."

Peter thought. _What's something I can hold? It can't be physical? Hold truth? Hold on? Hold my breath? That's it._ "Breath!" Peter yelled as Wesley started to approach Neal again.

"Wow, very good Peter, but your luck is wearing thin. Next—and don't worry, only two more—listen closely. _If you throw me from the window, I leave a grieving wife. Bring me back, but in the door, and you'll see someone giving life!"_ Wesley said cheerfully. Peter felt his chest tighten as he replayed the words in his head, having absolutely no idea what the answer was. He looked at Neal, who just stared back, his eyes trying to tell him, " _It's okay_." Peter shook his head while still staring intently at Neal. Neal could tell Peter was trying desperately to figure it out, but it was useless; even Neal didn't know the answer.

Wesley started walking over to Neal, who just closed his eyes, accepting his fate. Peter pulled at his handcuffs and yelled, "You don't have to do this! Just stop playing games and we can end this! Please!" However, Wesley didn't flinch or respond. He crouched next to Neal and pushed the syringe into Neal's neck, releasing whatever ungodly liquid inside into Neal's body.

At first nothing happened. After wincing when Wesley put the needle into his neck, Neal just sat there in anticipation, but a few seconds turned into a minute and still nothing happened. Neal looked at Peter, a puzzled look in his eyes, and Peter just stared back helplessly. Neal became more confused when Wesley stepped behind him and released his left hand from the restraints and also ripped the duct tape from his mouth. Peter saw Wesley bend down and whisper something to Neal, but he couldn't make it out, he just saw Neal's eyes widen. Neal heard it very clearly, however.

 _"_ _I want Peter to hear you suffer."_

Neal's gaze met Peter's again, and he said anxiously, "Peter, this isn't your fault. Please don't feel—ah…please don'—ah…Peter…oh my God…" Neal's eyes started to water with pain as he tried to speak to Peter. The poison was starting to take its effect, and it was too much for Neal to talk through. Peter saw Neal's muscles tighten as he let out a sharp breath and his upper body collapsed to the floor next to the post.

Neal begin to feel as if every nerve in his body was on fire and burning him from the inside. He felt his body stiffen as he tried to make the pain go away, but it was useless. The fire reached his lungs and he cried out with every breath. Soon, he felt like he could no longer breath, and he was left writhing on the floor gasping for air as his fingernails scratched into the concrete below him.

Peter watched helplessly. He could see Neal's face twisted with pain as he fought against the effects of the poison. Peter wanted to look away, but the sound of Neal in agony was just as worse, so he kept watching and tried to help Neal any way he could.

"Neal!" Peter yelled. "Neal! Listen to me! Concentrate on my voice." Neal was still gasping for air, except now his gasps were interrupted by pained sobs. "Neal. I'm right here. It's going to be okay. Listen to me. You _can_ breathe, it just hurts a lot. But you need to breathe, Neal, or else you will pass out. Just try to take deep breaths, just pretend you aren't here okay? Think of better things and just breathe!" Peter begged him. He could see Neal's face turning bright red and the veins in his neck and arms begin to bulge as he continued wheezing and writhing on the floor. "Neal! Look at me! I'm here! I'm here for you buddy, c'mon you can get through this." Peter thought it was useless. Neal was evidently in too much pain to even hear him, but to Peter's surprise, Neal's head began to turn towards him on the ground.

Neal felt like he was slipping away, that the fire was consuming him, and like he wanted to die. Except, Peter's voice kept pulling him away from the oblivion, giving him a reason to keep fighting through the agony coursing through his body.

" _Neal! Look at me!"_ The words sounded like they were miles away in his ringing ears. _You have to fight this._ Neal forced open his eyes and tried to look toward Peter. With a great expenditure of energy, he turned his head to the right and stared up at Peter. He was still struggling to breathe, and each breath was accompanied by a pained whimper, but seeing Peter-seeing the pain in his eyes-was enough to pull Neal out of the darkness of the drug.

"That's it Neal, just breathe. Breathe, Neal. I'm right here. It's going to be alright, okay? Just keep breathing." Peter said, trying to calm his partner. He could see the tears slipping down the side of his face and dripping onto the concrete below him. The redness in his eyes made his bright blue eyes stand out even more, except now they wore a pained and exhausted expression that killed Peter. He watched as Neal's chest began to move up and down in a more steady rhythm, and was relieved as his breath began to quiet, the effects of the drug obviously passing. Neal was still staring up at Peter as if it would be the last time he would see him, and Peter could still see the fear flickering behind his eyes. "There you go Neal, it's okay. Keep breathing like that, you're going to be okay, I promise." Peter tried to comfort him, but it was difficult because he knew his words of comfort could be a complete lie. Neal opened his mouth to try to speak, but all that came out was a wheezing cough. The cough turned violent and he continued for a few seconds, his lungs trying to expel whatever remained of the poison inside him. Finally, he stopped, and after a few seconds he was able to speak.

"You were right, W-Wesley, that was fun..." he said with the last bit of sarcasm left in him. He let his head rest on the concrete as he breathed deeply, relieved to finally feel like he was getting oxygen into his body. He looked back at Peter and just nodded, trying to tell Peter he was okay. _Except this is so not okay._ Peter looked back at him, the guilt and sorrow visibly written across his face. Wesley broke their moment of silence when he said, "That was lovely. I've never seen that drug in action before. Thanks for the front row seat."

"Don't mention it." Neal bit back as began sitting up against the post, supporting his right hand under his left and gingerly resting it in his lap.

Peter was happy, _for lack of a better word,_ that Neal was still fighting, despite the pain he was obviously in. He had never seen Neal so vulnerable, but at the hands of Wesley, that's exactly what he was.

"Alright Peter," Wesley began. "You'll have to figure that one out later. I told you I have one more riddle for you, and let's hope you can solve it, for Neal's sake." Wesley laughed. "Alright, now listen closely. _The man who builds it, sells it. The man who buys it, doesn't use it. The man who uses it, doesn't know it._ What is it?" Wesley asked. Peter stared at him, stunned. _Where does he come up with this shit?_ Peter could not think, his mind seemed frozen. He looked at Neal with utmost guilt and already dreading what Wesley would do to him. He felt a sense of urgency as he looked into Neal's innocent blue eyes. _What type of man doesn't use what he buys? What man doesn't know he's using it?_ Peter's mind was now racing. _If he doesn't know he's using it, could that mean he is dead? After all, an alive man certainly would know he's using it._ Peter saw Wesley walking back over to Neal, but instead of approaching the case, he took Peter's gun out of his pants and pointed it at Neal's chest. "Can't figure it out, Peter? Are you really prepared to watch him bleed out and die?" Wesley asked, but Peter was still lost in thought. _What would a dead man use?_ At that thought, Peter raised his head and looked at Wesley with a smug smile.

"A _coffin."_ Peter said to Wesley, savoring his look of surprise.

"Wow Peter, I can't say I'm not surprised." Wesley said, acting shocked but actually faking it. He continued, "I'm glad you mentioned it, because your friend here could use a _coffin_ in a few moments." he raised his gun back at Neal's chest. Peter's eyes widened in shock. He yanked at his restraints and yelled, "Wait! Stop! That's not part of the deal. I solved your stupid puzzles, I played along with your game, Neal isn't supposed to die!" He was still pulling at his handcuffs to get closer to Neal, and he didn't notice as his raw wrists began to bleed.

Wesley smiled at the sight and replied, "No, Peter. This was all part of the plan. No matter what you did, Neal was going to die. You see, if you disobeyed me I was going to kill him, simple as that. If you didn't solve something, like before, Neal would suffer, and enough suffering would lead to his eventual death. And lastly, if you actually made it here, and played along, I was still going to kill him. That's the point. I'm showing to you that no matter how hard you tried, you simply couldn't save Neal, hence why I am better than you, Peter. You see?"

Peter clenched his jaw and glared at Wesley. "You are no better than me. You're just a lunatic with too much time on your hands. I'm better than you. I solved your puzzles, I made it here, I've done EVERYTHING you've asked, now just let Neal go!" he screamed.

"Why should I?" Wesley asked.

"Because..." Peter began. "Killing Neal proves you are no better than anyone. All it proves is that the assholes on the board were right for locking you up. If you are looking for revenge you can find it right in front of you. Me."

"Wait, Peter no! What are you doing?" Neal yelled back at his friend. He felt his blood run cold as he realized Peter's plan. _He's sacrificing himself for me. "_ Peter, please don't! Just think about El! You can still get out of this, it's okay!" He said with tear-filled eyes as he pleaded with Peter to just let him die.

"Shhh Neal." Wesley said. "Let the man talk, I still haven't decided." He waved at Peter, motioning him to continue.

Peter said, "Listen Wesley, Neal is a nobody. He has nothing to do with what's between you and me. Killing him is not necessary for what you want to accomplish. Take me instead. That'll at least prove to everyone that you beat an FBI agent. It...It will surely make headline news." Peter sighed.

Wesley smiled, lowering his gun from Neal as he turned to Peter. "There was a reason I liked you Peter. I'll tell you what, I'll even let you say goodbye..." his voice faded into an evil snarl. He walked over to Peter and began to uncuff him. "Don't try anything." he said as he removed the cuffs completely.

Peter walked over to Neal and got on his knees in front of him, face to face. Neal's face was already flushed and the tears were welled up in his eyes. He choked out, "You don't have to do this...please." He blinked and the tears streamed down his face and he didn't attempt to stop them. Peter put both his hands on Neal's shoulders, not entirely sure what to say.

"Neal..." he began. "I'm sorry...it has to be this way. I'm what got you into this mess. Listen..." he stopped to take a breath, and perhaps keep his own tears at bay, before saying, "I've always believed in you Neal. You're special. I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me. Please...please take care of El." at that, he couldn't stop the tears from leaking out of his eyes. He quickly wiped them away with his sleeve, not wanting Neal to see him last in this state. He put his hand on the side of Neal's face, then reached behind him, embracing him awkwardly due to their position on the floor. Neal let his head fall into Peter's shoulder and he took several shaky breaths before saying into Peter's jacket, "I will." Peter hugged him tighter, then whispered in his ear, " _They are coming for you, just hang in there._ " Neal felt Peter place something in his pocket, however skillfully so Wesley wouldn't see. Before letting go, Peter choked out, "I love you buddy." He let go and stood up just as he felt Neal's body start to quiver with sobs. He nodded at Wesley and they both headed for the back door.

Neal was left in silence. As his sobs quieted he awaited the dreaded sound he hoped wouldn't come true. He felt the guilt tearing at his heart at the fact Peter was going to die in order to save him.

And then it happened.

 _pop! pop!_

Two gun shots rang out in the backyard, and Neal couldn't contain his horror.

"Peter! NO! No! no..." His voice slipped into a cry of emotional agony. _Peter is gone._ His sadness turned to rage as Wesley walked back in, whistling.

"I'm going to fucking murder you! You piece of shit! How could you do that?!" Neal didn't care about the tears streaming down his face. His entire reason for living was gone. The person who changed his life and made his world whole would never be there again. He felt no reason to live.

"It's time we get going, Neal. This adventure isn't quite over yet." Wesley said, emotionless.

Neal was led out the front door and into a car that was obscured by bushes. He sat in the back, still cradling his arm, and let his head fall against the window. They drove away and the small cabin he'd been in for hours soon disappeared. He felt as if a giant hole had been ripped from his heart. He closed his eyes, trying to wake up from the nightmare that had now become his life.

* * *

Are you guys alright? I'm so sorry. BUT, if are insanely unhappy, just STICK WITH ME. I promise everything (well not everything) will be okay. If you are genuinely unhappy feel free to message me and I'll make you feel better, but once again I promise it'll be alright.

Anyway...

How will Mozzie find Neal? What's with the riddles? Please review! Chapter 8 will be up in a couple days!


	8. The Kill

I know I said this would be up in a few days but I wrote it all today and decided to let you guys see it today because I know you are suffering ;) Enjoy…

(Any mistakes are mine, still need to thoroughly proof read) (Still do not own white collar)

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

The Kill

"Mozzie! What is going on?" Elizabeth said frantically to Mozzie, who was busy typing things into his computer.

"I'm tracing Peter's phone from my computer. As long as his phone is on I can get a location on him, it'll just take me a little bit." Mozzie replied.

"Wait, you can do that?" Elizabeth asked, her tone hopeful.

"I can do a lot of things, Mrs. Suit." Mozzie said as he smiled back to his computer screen.

"So when we get his location, what's the plan?" Elizabeth asked.

Mozzie was still looking at his screen, but he said, "The plan is we alert the FBI. They'll get units out there and get Peter and Neal back safely and hopefully arrest the guy that did this to them."

Elizabeth was silent. She hadn't realized where Peter was going until now, and she felt herself tense with nervousness. "Wait…Peter is going to get Neal _now?"_ She said with worried eyes that made even Mozzie feel sympathy. Mozzie didn't realize that Elizabeth was out of the loop of Peter and his silent conversation before Peter left.

"Listen, Elizabeth, Peter will be fine. This is part of his plan." Mozzie said, keeping his voice calm.

"But how do you know that?" Elizabeth asked with uncertainty.

Mozzie replied, "Remember what he said before he left: '… _you're the boss. Don't feel the need to find a suit though_.' He was trying to say that I need to find him, and when I do, contact the FBI, hence why he said 'boss' and 'find a suit'." He looked at Elizabeth, who was nodding like she understood what he said.

Mozzie looked back at his computer screen, then exclaimed, "Got it!" Elizabeth jumped at his sudden outburst. "Got what?" She asked.

"Take a look for yourself." Mozzie said as he turned the computer to face her. She felt a glimmer of hope as she could see a small dot on the screen labeled with Peter's phone number. She then asked, "Now what?"

"Now," Mozzie said, "We wait."

* * *

The FBI building was buzzing with activity, as it had been for the past few hours. Their search for a lead had turned up nothing, but they were still trying.

"How is this possible?" Hughes asked. "How can we have nothing?"

Jones looked back at him, his eyes tired from all the files he'd looked over, and said, "I don't know sir. We must be looking in the wrong place." Just then he felt his phone buzz. He looked down to see it was from an unknown email address, but he opened the message. The message expanded and opened a new tab on his phone, which he saw to be a dot moving across the screen. It was labeled with a number— _Peter's number,_

"Sir! I have something!" Jones exclaimed. "Look here." He said as he turned the phone toward Hughes. "That's Peter's number and that's his location."

"What does the message say?" Hughes said anxiously.

"It says, 'Peter _ER to LaTourette Park. Robert Wesley holding Neal. –M_ '" Both sighed simultaneously and said, "Mozzie."

Hughes looked at Jones, and with urgency said, "Assemble a team right now. Get the coordinates of the park and continue tracing. We need to be there ASAP for Peter."

"Yes sir." Jones said as he ran out of his office.

Hughes walked out to the stairs leading to the pit and said, "We have a development, listen to Jones for instruction. But first, get me everything on a man named Robert Wesley. Now!"

* * *

"It stopped." Elizabeth said. "The dot stopped moving."

"He must have arrived. He's in the park, according to the tracker." Mozzie replied. "I've sent the trace to the FBI, they have Peter's back too, so don't worry. It will be over soon." He tried to say sympathetically. He could tell the anxiety was building up in Elizabeth, and he hated to admit that he could feel it too.

The both blinked at the screen when the dot disappeared. "What happened?" Elizabeth asked nervously.

"Uh…" Mozzie said as he refreshed the screen and typed a series of numbers that Elizabeth couldn't see. A window popped up, reading, " _TRACE LOST"_ and Elizabeth couldn't stop herself from gasping.

"Wait, I can fix it. Um…" Mozzie began. "I need my phone. Where is it?" he said frantically looking around. "It should be right here! I put it in my bag, I know I did! Wait a minute…" He said as he looked back up at Elizabeth. "Your husband is a genius." He said as he turned back to his computer, now typing in a new series of numbers.

"What? What did he do?" Elizabeth asked still stunned.

"He took my phone out of the bag I left outside. He anticipated this happening. He knew Wesley wouldn't let him keep his phone, so he brought mine too." He said smiling as he continued to type. "Now I just need to trace my own phone—there! Got it!" Mozzie exclaimed as a new dot appeared on the screen and was moving east. "I need to send this to the FBI." He said as he opened a dialogue menu.

The dot stopped, and didn't move for a while. "It's been over ten minutes, why is it stopped?" Elizabeth asked.

"They must have reached the cabin where Neal is." Mozzie said, although unsure of himself. Just then they saw the dot move slightly, so slightly they thought it may be a glitch, but they knew what they saw. They continued staring at the screen for what felt like hours, however only a few minutes passed when the dot began moving slowly east— _back out of the cabin—_ and then sped up, still moving east.

"They are on the move." Mozzie said, mostly to himself. _Why would they be moving?_

* * *

 _A few minutes earlier._

Peter took one last look at Neal before going out the back door of the cabin. He felt nauseous, which was an understatement. He _was going to die._ The thoughts about how this would affect Neal made his heart break in two, but he knew he could never live with himself if Neal was killed because of him. _Where is my backup?_ Maybe Mozzie didn't understand his message. Maybe he didn't realize he had taken his phone. Maybe no help was coming. He was led out to the backyard by Wesley. Wesley pointed his gun, _Peter's gun,_ at his back the whole way.

"Alright, get on your knees, Peter." Wesley said, amused. "I can't believe you are giving up your life for a felon. How pathetic."

Before complying with Wesley's command, Peter said, "After this is over, you let Neal _go."_

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a man of my word. He'll be let go." Wesley said as Peter sunk to his knees in the grass. He was staring at Wesley intently. He would not make it easy on him. Forcing someone to look in the eyes of the life they took is not easy, no matter how psychotic or twisted they may be.

Wesley raised his gun at Peter's forehead. He said, "I have to admit, I don't want this fun to end." Peter was silent. He was using his last moments to think of El—her blue eyes, her gorgeous features, her loving smile. He closed his eyes as he hung on to the last bit of happiness he would ever experience.

 _Pop! Pop!_

Wesley fired the two shots. Peter squeezed his eyes shut, expecting pain. But when he felt nothing, he opened his eyes. _Am I already dead?_ He saw Wesley standing above him, the gun pointed down by Peter's knees. Peter looked down to see two holes in the ground just inches from him. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when he heard Neal screaming his name, accompanied by several exasperated "'No!'s" Although it was muffled, he could still hear the raw emotion in Neal's voice.

Wesley took advantage of Peter's silence and said, "Shhh Peter, don't make a sound." He walked over and squatted in front of Peter, gun still pointed at his head. "This isn't quite over. I'm not ready to be done yet. Also, I liked what you said about revenge you know?" He laughed slightly. "The only way I can get revenge is if you suffer. Me killing Neal in front of you wouldn't quite do it. Me killing you, well that would only make Neal and your family suffer. _But,_ if it's up to you whether Neal lives or dies, and you can't stop it from happening, well then, that'll surely make you suffer. It will also prove once again, that I am better than you." Wesley said with a smug smile. "Remember those riddles Peter? Well I hope you paid attention to the answers. Whether or not you find Neal depends on it _."_ After he said that, he rammed the handle of the gun into Peter's temple, who crumpled to the grass immediately, unconscious.

Wesley went back inside to collect Neal, and within minutes they had driven away.

* * *

 _10 minutes later_

"FBI! Hands up!" Jones yelled as he kicked open the door to the cabin. The entire team moved in, all dressed in raid gear, and began clearing the area.

"Clear!"

"Clear!"

"Clear!"

"Clear! But sir, you might want to take a look at this." An agent said, holding open the door that led to Wesley's computer room.

"What the hell…" Jones said as he entered the room. The technology in front of him rivaled that of the agency. He turned to his left to face the wall with the door and saw a board with pictures of Peter, Neal, and everyone involved with them. Wesley had dug into every detail about them, leaving nothing to chance. He knew _everything._ Jones stopped looking at the board when something out the side window caught the corner of his eye. What appeared to be a person was lying in the grass just next to the cabin. Jones ran out the back door and sprinted toward the person. We he reached him, he knelt down and gently rolled him onto his back. Jones caught his breath as he realized it was Peter. He grimaced as he saw the nasty cut just above his eye.

"Diana! Get an ambulance!" He yelled. "I have Peter!" Jones said, then looked back down at Peter. _He's breathing, thank God._

"Peter, can you hear me? It's Jones." Jones said quietly to Peter. Diana came over soon after and said, "Ambulance on the way, ETA seven minutes." She knelt down next to Peter with Jones, loosening his tie. "Hey Boss, we really need you to wake up so you can tell us what happened." She said, then continued, "Neal still needs you Peter, just wake up please." Right when she mentioned Neal, Peter's eyes blinked open partially at first, then wide open as he realized what happened. "He's…" Peter began, but winced as he tried to move.

"Whoa Peter, just take it easy." Jones said, putting his hand against his chest to stop Peter from sitting up.

Peter reluctantly let his head rest against the grass, but continued to say, "He's taken him. I…I need to find him… _please."_

Diana could see that Peter's deep brown eyes were filled with fear and uncertainty. She grabbed his hand instinctively to comfort him then said, "Ambulance will be here soon, we'll get you fixed up and then we will find Neal." Peter relaxed slightly at her comment.

"I need a phone." Peter said, not as a question, but as an order. Diana nodded at Jones who stood up at Peter's request. He continued, "Diana, you have no idea how deep this is…we need to find Neal _right now."_

"I know Boss, we will, just take it easy for a little. What happened?"

Peter closed his eyes for a second, replaying the details in his head. "Help me sit up. I'm asking because I know you won't let me do it by myself." He said as he gripped her hand. Diana reached behind him and helped him sit up and lean against the side of the cabin.

"I can't go into too much detail, or we'll be here all day. But, it started with a phone call from June about Neal not coming home, which was weird because I dropped him off the night prior. She said there was blood on the porch, and as I got to my car, Neal's hat was there with a picture of him and a note with coordinates. The note antagonized me into a "game" with just myself and Wesley, whom I didn't know at the time. I was let to the Museum of Modern Art, where I received a phone call from him. I was able to speak to Neal briefly and that's when I knew this was bad. He then gave me numbers to solve for a clue, which led me to Ground Zero where he called me again. That time, I had Mozzie back-trace the call. Except…" Peter trailed off, remembering having to listen to Neal's cries of agony over the phone. He continued, "Wesley hurt Neal because I sent a message to you guys. He…He broke his hand, badly." Peter shook his head, stopping the tears trying to well up in his eyes. "Wesley then told me that there was a surprise at my house…so immediately I thought of El, however, the man he sent ended up knocked out and tied up on my kitchen floor…Oh my God, we need to make sure the FBI takes that guy in." Peter said.

"Already taken care of, a unit has been sent over." Diana replied reassuringly. "So then what happened?"

"Well, I received a text from Wesley telling me to come here, alone, and to tell nobody. I did my best to tell Mozzie, and he obviously understood, thank God. Wesley had been listening in on me this whole day…he even had eyes in the FBI building, so I couldn't say anything out loud or over text…I'm sure you saw his room in the cabin. Anyway, I get here, I'm forced to give up my gun, and we go inside where I see Neal." Peter paused, remembering how terrible Neal had looked when he last saw him. "Then Wesley, this psychopath, tells me I need to solve riddles or else…or else Neal pays for it. I solved the first one, Neal solved the second, but then Wesley put duct tape over his mouth. The next riddle made no sense and I…I couldn't solve it. Wesley injected Neal with this…this poison that…" Peter put his head down, unable to get the picture of Neal gasping for air on the floor out of his mind.

"Boss, it's okay. What happened after?"

"He said he had one more, and I solved it. The answer was 'coffin' and after I said it he said he was going to kill Neal. I convinced him otherwise, and told him to take me instead. He took me out here, fired two into the ground, and told me I needed to find Neal, and that the game wasn't over. He also said that the answers to the riddles hold the key. Then he hit me and I passed out." Peter said, but then opened his eyes wide at Diana and said, "But…Oh my God, Neal thinks Wesley killed me." Peter caught his breath and let out a long exhale, thoroughly winded after his long rant. He couldn't imagine what Neal was going through. He hoped that Neal wouldn't give up because of his grief. Peter exclaimed, "We need to find him now!" and just as he said that, Jones ran back with the phone Peter had requested. Peter immediately dialed his home phone, hoping Mozzie and El were still there.

To his relief, El answered, "Hello?"

"Hey, hon." Peter said. He couldn't help but smile at the sound of her voice.

"Peter! Oh my God you are alright! Is Neal okay?" Elizabeth asked.

"Is Mozzie there? This isn't over yet, El. But don't worry, the team is here." Peter said, trying to keep his tone from sounding worrisome.

"Here he is…I love you." El said as she handed the phone to Mozzie. Peter didn't get a chance to reply as Mozzie's voice filled the line.

"Suit, what the hell happened?" He asked anxiously.

"He's taken Neal…this is the last level of the game. He gave me riddles to solve and apparently the answers lead to where Neal is." Peter said.

"Okay, well did you solve them?" Mozzie asked impatiently.

"All but one." Peter replied. "The first answer was _shadow,_ the second was _river,_ the third I couldn't solve, and the fourth was _coffin."_ Peter said.

"What was the third riddle?" Mozzie asked, observably deep in thought.

Peter thought, then replied, "Umm it was something like, ' _throw me from the window, I leave a grieving wife…but bring me back in the door and you'll see…someone giving life_.' Yeah that's it. Anything?"

"It's the letter N!" Mozzie said enthusiastically. "Take 'n' from 'window' and you get widow. Put it in 'door' and you get 'donor'!"

Peter was relieved, but even angrier now at the fact that Mozzie solved it so easily, while he was forced to watch Neal suffer. But then again, Mozzie was the master of this stuff. He replied, "Wow, great Mozzie. So now we have shadow, river, N, and coffin. They have to be connected somehow."

"Well, we have to start with river. That has to be the location." Mozzie said.

"That would be a hell of a lot easier if there was just one river in New York." Peter sighed.

"Hang on, I'm pulling up a map on my computer. He couldn't have taken him very far." Mozzie replied. "Well we have the Hudson of course, but that's too big and too crowded. Most likely, he's not going to take Neal to a place that has witnesses, so it will have to be a smaller river, maybe a runoff of the Hudson." Mozzie said as he was scrolling through the map.

"Okay but what about the other clues? Could 'N' be what it starts with?" Peter asked.

"No, it can't be the North River, there are too many businesses along it." Mozzie replied.

"Wait a minute, what if the river _looks_ like an 'N'?" Peter asked.

"Hmm…" Mozzie began. "That could work…give me a second."

Peter started to stand up, Diana reached for him but he pushed her hands away. He was standing, but still leaning against the cabin. His head was throbbing and he felt dizzy, but that wasn't going to stop him from finding Neal as soon as possible.

"Suit! You're a genius." Mozzie said.

" _Wow, that's the second time I've heard that today."_ Peter could hear El say in the background.

"It's the Arthur Kill, a river that runs off of the Hudson. It is in the shape of an 'N' and is relatively close, actually _very_ close, so it has to be it!" Mozzie said excitedly through the phone. "Hang on, I'm going to look this place up online."

Peter pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at Diana. "I need a car."

"There is no way I'm letting you drive the way you look. I'll take you, let's go."

Peter was relieved that she actually listened to him instead of forcing him to wait until the paramedics arrived. He knew he probably had a concussion, but that wasn't a big enough reason to get him to stop his search. Diana knew that trying to get Peter to stay would be futile, which is why she offered to drive.

They reached Diana's car and Peter got into the passenger side as he heard Mozzie say, "This is it, Suit! I just found out that on the Arthur Kill there's a ship graveyard from World War II, it's a place where ships go to die. That's what the coffin riddle is about."

"Diana, get to the Arthur Kill ship graveyard, and step on it!" Peter said, before turning back to the phone. He said to Mozzie, "This is great, all we have left is the shadow riddle."

Mozzie was silent, Peter assumed he was researching on his computer and unable to speak, _part of his process._ Peter was deep in thought too. _World War II ship graveyard, a shadow? A shadow of what? Or is the shadow the thing itself?_ Peter was a World War II buff, and he was combing through the archives of his mind to figure it out. _It is a shadow. A shadow in the water? Yes that's it!_

"Mozzie! It's a submarine! A shadow warrior is what submarines were called in the war." Peter exclaimed.

"I can't imagine there are too many of those lying around at the graveyard." Mozzie said, his excitement matching Peter's. "I'll call you if I find anything else. Call me when you get Neal." He said, trying to sound hopeful.

"Will do." Peter replied, then hung up. He looked at Diana, who was weaving through backroads toward the Kill, and said "Get ahold of the team. Neal's been taken to the ship graveyard. We are looking for a World War II submarine."

"Got it." was all she replied as she voice-dialed Jones.

Peter felt himself become hopeful that they figured out where Wesley had gone. It had only been about twenty minutes since Wesley had taken Neal, so Peter tried to convince himself that they would find him in plenty of time.

 _Just hang in there, Neal._

* * *

I told you it would be alright! Peter is now determined to find Neal, and they have his location! Will he get there in time? And a submarine in a ship graveyard, seriously Wesley? Also, that is a real place near LaTourette Park, just look up Arthur Kill ship graveyard for more information. So how you liking it? There's still plenty more. We have to get our boys reunited...especially since Neal has no idea that Peter is alive! Ahh! I'm very excited.

PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW! Let me know how much more you want to see! Tell me if ya like it! I appreciate every review! They really mean A LOT :))


	9. The Search

Sorry for the late post, but here is chapter 9!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 9

The Search

"Wait a minute." Peter said as he looked down at his phone and redialed Mozzie.

"You have something already?" Mozzie said on the other end.

"No, we are still on our way. But I was thinking, did you ever get a trace on your phone? I put it in Neal's pocket before I was…taken outside. I figured you realized that when my phone went dead." Peter replied.

"Yeah, yeah, that's how I found the cabin in the first place." Mozzie paused. "Ohhh…you're wondering why I'm not tracing it right now. Well…that trace went dead too. I uh…I didn't get a chance to tell you…you start babbling about the riddles and needing to solve them and I didn't want to distract—"

"What do you mean it went dead?!" Peter interrupted, practically yelling into the phone.

Mozzie took a deep breath and replied, "It was moving steady for a while, heading away from the cabin, then _poof!_ it was gone. But luckily, based on the direction they were headed, I was able to use the clues from the riddle to find the Arthur Kill, so I guess it all worked out."

"So I guess your idea of it being 'worked out' is me racing for Neal's life?" Peter said coldly. The line went silent, and Peter quietly muttered, "Sorry…I'm just worried."

"Just try to think positive, Suit. Wesley doesn't think you'll find him and we know where he is, so what's the worst that can happen?" Mozzie asked.

 _Oh, don't get me started on that one…_ Peter thought, but instead said, "You're right. I've got to go, we're almost at the graveya—" Peter stopped mid-word, "…the place."

 _I'm coming, Neal._

* * *

 _Peter is gone. He's really gone…_

Neal's mind kept replaying the sounds of the gunshots he'd heard just a few minutes prior. He was leaning against the back window, eyes closed and feeling sorry for himself when he suddenly remembered the thing that Peter had put in his front pocket. He stealthily reached his left hand toward his front right pocket, wincing as his right hand shifted slightly, then felt immense relief as he realized the thing in his pocket was a phone. He slipped it out of his pocket and was about to dial when his thoughts of Peter resurfaced.

 _Peter was about to die and the last thing he thought of was saving you. This is all your fault. How can you live with yourself? What are you supposed to tell El?_

"What the hell is that?!" Neal was interrupted by Wesley, who slammed the breaks and was out of the car in a split second. He swung open Neal's door, grabbing him by the collar and throwing him onto the ground before Neal could even think of defending himself.

"A _phone?"_ Wesley said as he ripped the phone out of Neal's hand. He checked the outgoing calls, then smiled down at Neal when he realized he didn't make any. He then put the phone on the ground and smashed it with his heel. "Looks like your luck just ran out." He added.

"You're psychotic." Neal said. "And you're a dead man. You have no idea what's coming." Neal did his best to sound intimidating, which was hard when he was the one on the ground with Wesley standing over him.

"Oh really? Let's not forget who's in control of the situation here. Perhaps you need a reminder?" Wesley said, except it wasn't a question. He took a step toward Neal then rammed the toe of his shoe into his rib cage. Neal yelped and took in a sharp breath as he let his body curl toward his already bruised, now more bruised ribs. He felt Wesley grab his collar and jerk him back into the car.

"Geez, some chauffeur service." Neal said sarcastically, not caring about how Wesley would react, because the truth is, he didn't care about anything. Peter was gone and now he was stuck with this psychopath. He wished Wesley would just kill him, just put him out of his misery. He did not care about living anymore. The thought of trying to return to life without Peter was too much to bear. To his disappointment, Wesley simply shut the door behind him, got in the driver side, and drove away. Neal let his head lean against the window and closed his eyes once more, allowing the darkness to take him.

However, the darkness did not take him long because he awoke when Wesley braked hard and his head slid forward off the glass. He then heard Wesley's high, raspy voice say, " _We're here!"_ and he felt a cold shiver go down his spine. Wesley opened Neal's door and pulled him out again. Neal squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light, and he felt his muscles tighten in the cold air.

"Walk." Wesley said, shoving Neal forward, who did as he was told.

Neal was cradling his arm awkwardly while he walked and could feel the pressure in his head from all the hits he'd taken. Every breath was cut short as he felt pain in his left side from his most likely cracked ribs. But still, he kept walking.

"Where are we going?" Neal asked, genuinely curious and trying to distract himself from the pain.

"To your grave." Wesley replied, half enthusiastic and half pure evil.

Neal stiffened. _Why does he have to make this so complicated?_ "Why can't you just kill me already? I'm sick of your stupid game." Neal said coldly.

"Well, where's the fun in that?" Wesley replied.

"You're stupid, you know." Neal said, then added, "You failed."

"How so?"

"You didn't prove anything to Peter or anyone. You're not better than him in any way. All you proved is that you don't have the mental capacity to get over a grudge that began over a decade ago. You're pathetic." Neal replied, no longer caring about what he said.

"At least I didn't sacrifice myself for a felon." Wesley said back. Then added, "And at least I didn't let my friend sacrifice himself for me. By the way, what are you going to tell Elizabeth? Will you tell her that you let him die?"

"SHUT UP!" Neal yelled, turning to face Wesley, his eyes narrowing as they met his.

"Why should I? This is your fault. Peter would still be alive if it wasn't for your selfishness." Wesley replied.

"No! You don't get to do this! You killed him! You're the piece of shit that ended his life! You're not allowed to guilt trip me. You've done enough already." Neal said, trying to control his anger.

Wesley smiled, which only angered Neal more, then said, "Don't worry, Neal, you can join him soon. We're here."

Neal turned around and saw they were just off the shore of a body of water. In front of them he could see sunken ships, boats that looked like twisted pieces of wood, and a few that were still barely floating above the water.

"Keep walking." Wesley said, and reluctantly, Neal did as he was told. If he was about to die, he didn't care. His mind was sick with guilt about Peter, and he just wanted to end it.

 _God dammit Neal, Peter died for you and this is how you repay him?_ His thoughts were flooding his mind as they walked out onto an old dock. Wesley stopped as they reached what looked like a large outer basement door sticking above the water. Wesley thrust it open and Neal looked inside, but all he could see was black.

"Get in." Wesley demanded.

"What? No!" Neal replied, backing up on the narrow dock.

 _If you go in there you'll die. This is the grave he was talking about._

Suddenly, Neal felt his adrenaline surge inside him. Before he knew what he was doing, he tackled Wesley, hitting him with his left shoulder. They both fell onto the wooden dock, Neal rolled on his shoulder skillfully to not hurt his hand, while Wesley, caught off guard, fell directly backwards and had the back of his head take most of the fall. Wesley yelled in frustration, then scrambled to his feet. As Wesley was struggling to get up, Neal managed to grab him and shove his knee into his abdomen, causing Wesley to double over. Wesley coughed several times and stumbled to one knee. Neal walked over toward him, ready to alleviate more of his rage.

As he reached him he said, "This only ends one way."

Wesley replied, "Tell me about it." Then suddenly spun toward Neal, lunging toward him. Neal didn't see that Wesley had grabbed a small, concealed knife from his ankle, he didn't see that Wesley was faking his trouble to stand, and he certainly didn't see the knife get stabbed into his lower abdomen— _before it was too late._ Wesley held Neal there for a moment, who was frozen in shock, then pulled the knife out of his abdomen. Neal let out a cry of pain and felt his knees buckle, but he was held up by Wesley. Wesley held the knife up in front of his face, it was covered in Neal's blood.

"It won't do too much damage, I got you low and to the center, there's nothing important there. But then again, not like it matters at this point." He said to Neal, who had gone pale and beads of sweat had formed on his forehead, despite the near freezing temperature.

"S-see y-you…in…hell…" Neal panted out. He felt Wesley push him backwards and he let his body go limp. For a split second he felt the dreaded feeling of falling, but the icy water and the shock of his body landing against the hard metal soon ended it. He looked up to see a Wesley standing above the square opening. Despite his efforts, he ended up exactly where Wesley wanted him in the first place. Neal felt his blood run cold from that fact, or maybe it was the cold water, or maybe it was the blood loss…

There was about a foot of water in the submarine, and Neal had gotten himself leaned up against the wall. Wesley had slammed the door above him, leaving him in complete darkness. Although he couldn't see anything he could tell the submarine was tiny.

 _I might suffocate in here…that is if I don't die from hypothermia or…_ Neal stopped his thoughts right there and placed his hand where the pain in his abdomen was radiating from. He pressed down on it, despite the white hot pain that screamed at him when he did.

 _You have to stop the bleeding, you have to survive for Peter…he died for you._

Neal now had a reason to live…a reason to fight. He was not going to let Peter's death be in vain just because he was selfish, no, he _would_ survive.

Except, it was just so _damn cold._ Neal felt his body shivering and his extremities going numb. He was suddenly overcome by an urge to sleep and could barely keep his eyes open.

 _No, keep fighting! You have to…you…for Peter_ …

Despite his mind's protest, Neal lost his battle with keeping his eyes open and quickly slipped into darkness.

* * *

"Boss we're here!" Diana yelled, but Peter was already dashing out of the car.

"Diana! I see him!" Peter yelled back as he caught sight of Wesley walking away from the shore. "Set up a perimeter!"

However, they wouldn't need the perimeter, because Peter's adrenaline and anger was no match for Wesley. The chase did not last long, and Peter was standing ten feet away with his gun trained on Wesley's chest in a matter of minutes.

"Well this feels familiar." Wesley said with a grin. Peter could feel his finger tightening around the trigger, wanting more than anything to end the life of the man that had caused him so much pain.

"Don't do it Peter!" Diana shouted as she neared him. She pulled out her cuffs and cuffed Wesley, who was surprisingly submissive.

"Search him." Peter ordered.

Diana searched him, pulling out a gun—Peter's gun—from his waistband. She stopped when he reached his ankle, and pulled out a knife, still bloodied with Neal's blood. Both Diana and Peter gasped at the sight.

"What did you do to him?!" Peter yelled as he neared Wesley and grabbed him by the throat.

"If you hurry, you might get to say goodbye." Wesley replied, then laughed, coughing against Peter's tight grip. Peter released him, then took his fist and punched Wesley hard across the jaw. Wesley dropped immediately, unable to protect himself from the fall because of the handcuffs. Peter didn't get to enjoy the sight though, because he was already sprinting toward the ship graveyard. He ran out onto the only dock that was visible, scanning the area desperately to find what he was looking for.

"Neal?!" Peter yelled at the top of his lungs.

"Neal?! Can you hear me!?" Peter yelled again.

No response.

Peter felt his heart in his throat as he thought the worst.

"Neal?! C'mon buddy, help me find you!"

Neal was awoken by his own teeth chattering. When he regained his senses, he wished he hadn't. The cold was unbearable. His legs and some of his midsection were under the water, and they felt like they were frozen solid. The only thing good about the cold was that he couldn't feel his hand or the dull throb in his abdomen from the stab wound. He assumed the bleeding had stopped, especially when he could feel how slowly his heart was beating and how weak he felt. He decided that this was his time and there was no longer anything he could do.

 _I'm sorry Peter…I'm sorry Moz…I'm sorry—_

 _"Neal?!"_ Neal shook the thoughts from his head. _Did I just hear that?_

 _"Neal?! Can you hear me?!"_ It was muffled and far away, but he was sure of what he heard. Someone was coming for him, they had found him, and he would be okay.

"I'm in here!" he tried to yell, but only came out as a raspy croak.

 _"Neal?! C'mon buddy, help me find you!"_ The muffled voice said again. _Buddy? But only one person calls me that? Only Peter…_ No, he had to be imagining it. There was no possible way Peter was outside looking for him, it was his mind playing tricks on him. Even so, he let the adrenaline take over his body and he had shifted to his knees, sliding his left hand along the submerged floor, trying to find anything to make noise. His hand bumped into something hard, and he immediately gripped around it. It wouldn't budge at first, but he put his foot against the wall across from him and pushed/pulled with all the strength he had left. It broke free and he fell back against the floor, briefly submerging his already wet body in the water again. He grabbed the piece of metal that was now free and began banging it against the wall. It was so loud it made his head pound even more, but he no longer cared…this was his only chance for survival.

Peter began to feel doubt rising in his mind. Maybe Neal was already dead…maybe he was too late. But he was pulled away from his negative thoughts when he heard banging in front of him to the right. It was faint, but he knew what he heard and started running toward it, minding the uneven dock. The banging got louder and louder as he ran forward and he stopped when he realized he was standing right next to it.

"Neal! I'm going to get you out just hang on!" Peter said as he reached toward the door handle to the top of the sub.

Neal heard the door handle creak, then covered his eyes with his forearm as the light blinded him. When the silhouette in front of him came into view, he thought his eyes had deceived him.

"Peter…?" Neal said weakly, having expended all of his energy on making noise. He was still on his knees in the cold, murky water and had to strain his neck to look up at the person above him.

"Yes Neal, I'm here. I'm coming down." Peter replied.

Neal heard Peter yell at someone, then signal towards the opening. Peter then jumped through the opening and landed on the floor with a thud as water sprayed out in all directions.

Peter's eyes adjusted to the dimly lit submarine and he looked down at his partner, who was on his knees just a few feet away from him.

"Neal!" Peter yelled, and began trudging toward him.

"P-Peter? Is it really y-you?" Neal replied, the adrenaline beginning to wear off.

"Yeah buddy, I'm here." He reached his partner and let himself fall to his knees as well, taking in a sharp breath as the cold consumed his legs.

"B-but…Wesley…He k-killed you…" Neal's voice trailed off as he felt his eyes water and his words turn into a soft sob.

When Peter was finally in front of him, Neal let his head drop into Peter's shoulder, and Peter wrapped his arms around his wet and freezing friend. For the first time in over 12 hours, Neal finally felt at home.

"I…I just can't believe it." Neal said through Peter's jacket, still overwhelmed with emotion.

"Just shh Neal, help is coming, everything is okay now." Peter said gently as he ran his hand through Neal's wet hair, still embracing him. There was silence between them for a few moments as the reality of what had happened faded away. To Neal, all that mattered that Peter was safe and that both of them were getting out of there. To Peter, all that mattered was that his CI was okay and that he'd found him.

Peter said to Neal, "I guess I'm 3 and 0 now." And let out a chuckle—the first one since the night prior.

"Yeah, thank God." Neal said weakly, then let out a small laugh, but stopped and moaned as the pain in his abdomen sent a burning sensation throughout his nerves.

"Neal? What's wrong?" Peter said worriedly as he pushed away to look at Neal, still holding him by his shoulders.

"He….he s-stabbed me." Neal said as he felt his vision starting to blur.

Peter could feel Neal's body going limp, and carefully eased him back against the wall behind him.

"Hey, hey Neal hold on. Help is almost here." Peter said. With Neal against the wall and his eyes more adjusted to the light, Peter could now clearly see Neal's front. He grimaced when he caught sight of the dark red around his abdomen, soaking into his light blue shirt, which was already soaked from the water. He instinctively reached his hand down and put pressure on the wound, despite Neal's cry of protest.

"Wait…I thought…it stopped bleeding?" Neal asked, his voice faint.

"Well it may have, but with you banging on the wall it started again. Just hold still." Peter replied.

Neal felt his eyes slipping closed, but did everything to fight against it. He reached out and grabbed Peter's free hand and said, "I told you Peter…I told you."

"You told me what?" Peter asked, squeezing his hand and trying to keep his partner talking. The iciness of Neal's skin made Peter's heart drop.

Neal shook his head. "I t-trust you. I knew…" his voice faded and his eyes closed. Peter looked at him with alarm and squeezed his hand (his good hand) harder.

"Neal! Neal you need to stay awake." Peter ordered.

Neal stirred slightly. He sleepily blinked his eyes back up at Peter, although all Peter could see were two blue slits.

"I…I k-knew you'd find me." Neal said. It was just a whisper, but Peter heard it. Neal's eyes closed again and Peter felt his hand go limp in his. However, he could hear the paramedics approaching and stood up to guide them over.

"Over here! He's down here!" Peter yelled as they neared.

"What's his status?" One of them asked.

"He just passed out a few seconds ago." Peter said, then added, "He's been in the water for a little while. He's been stabbed…lower abdomen…along with a lot of other things. Please hurry." Peter could hear the pleading tone in his voice, but he didn't try to hide it.

The first paramedic yelled that he needed a ladder and the emergency gurney. Luckily when Diana called for backup, she had called every branch of the cavalry. A fire truck was parked just off the shore and some eager firemen were sprinting down the dock with a small ladder and backboard. They arrived quickly and put the ladder in the opening. Peter held on to the bottom as the first and soon second paramedic came down. They both rushed over to Neal and started working on him.

"I have no pulse!"

"No respiratory either."

Peter felt his legs go numb. He grabbed onto the side of the ladder to keep himself from falling. He felt helpless. Here he was, just feet from Neal, but there was nothing he could do to help him. Neal was _dying_ and although Peter had found him, there was nothing more he could do.

"We need to get him out of here now!" The first paramedic said. The two worked together to get Neal on the backboard and strapped in rather quickly. They attached the board to a rope which the firemen pulled on, allowing the board to slide up the tilted ladder quite easily. The two paramedics went up next as Peter followed close behind.

They had Neal on the dock while one was cutting his shirt off and the other was in the process of intubating him.

 _Neal will hate to hear his shirt was ruined._ Peter thought, and almost smiled at the thought of Neal complaining about such a small thing, especially after today. However, he stopped when he saw one of the paramedics drying Neal's chest and he caught sight of the deep purple bruise on Neal's side, as well as the stab wound in the low center of his abdomen. The paramedic then stuck two sticky patches with wires connected to Neal's chest. The other paramedic looked at him and nodded.

"Charging to 200."

"Charged."

"Clear."

Neal's body jerked in response to the shock.

"Still no pulse." Said the paramedic that was using the ventilator to push oxygen into Neal's body.

Peter watched helplessly.

"Charging to 300."

"Charged."

"Clear."

Neal's body jerked again, and Peter had to turn away. He felt relief flood over him as he heard the paramedic say, "I've got a pulse! Let's go!"

They carried Neal off the dock and got him into the ambulance within minutes. Peter trailed right behind them and climbed into the ambulance without asking.

When the paramedic told him he could not be there, Peter shot him a look.

"This man is my partner and my best friend. There is no way in hell I am moving from his side."

The paramedic nodded slightly and turned back to Neal and placed a blanket over him. Peter reached his hand out and grabbed Neal's, whose was still cold and limp. He wrapped both his hands around Neal's hand and stroked the top of it, doing anything to try to comfort him, however because Neal was unconscious, the act was more to comfort Peter. Touching Neal grounded him. He was no longer in fear of not finding him or what Wesley would do to him, now Neal was here, and it was real, he just had to keep reminding himself of that.

He squeezed Neal's hand before saying, "I got you buddy, just hang on."

* * *

Soooo? What do you think? I really didn't intend to stab Neal, but I didn't want him to go into the submarine on his own will…I wanted to show that he was still fighting and willing to do anything to stop Wesley from forcing him in there. Our boys are reunited :') finally! Deep convo will be coming soon between them…IF Neal can pull through! Bumpy road ahead…


	10. Hold On

Enjoy.

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

Hold On

"What's the ETA on the chopper?" the paramedic next to Peter asked the other, who was driving.

"Four minutes out." Came the reply.

"Wait, chopper?" Peter asked.

"Yes sir. Your friend, Neal was it?"

"Yes, Neal." Peter replied.

"Well, Neal needs expert care, and the best hospital in New York is the Presbyterian University Hospital of Colombia and Cornell, which is over forty minutes away." The paramedic explained, then continued, "We are stopping about a quarter mile up into an area that is cleared for landing, and we'll get him loaded up and to the hospital in just a few minutes."

Peter nodded, keeping his eyes focused on Neal. The ventilation tube was removed from his throat and he was breathing on his own now, luckily. Peter felt nauseous at the sight of him, however. He was just _so pale._ His wet hair was sticking to his forehead, exemplifying the contrast between the lightness of his skin and the darkness of his hair. Peter was still holding his hand, refusing to let go. He felt if he let go, he'd lose him again, as irrational as it sounds. But Peter just wanted to hold him and make him feel safe, and holding Neal made Peter feel safe too, especially after the horrors they had both experienced the past several hours. Peter looked up as the paramedic moved to the other side.

"How long has this been here?" he asked Peter, pushing Neal's hair back and gesturing to the large gash on his head. It was swollen and had turned a deep purple, and the open wound had attempted to scab, but without stitches, it looked quite messy.

"Uh, I think it happened last night." Peter said. "That's how he was…" Peter stopped, catching his breath and tightening his grip on Neal's limp hand. "That's how he was taken."

"I see. I know it looks bad but they'll get it all fixed up at the hospital. For now, this will keep it as clean as possible." The paramedic said as he pushed gauze onto the wound. "They'll want to give him several shots due to the unknown contamination of the water he was in, especially with an open wound like this and on his abdomen."

 _Great. Neal hates shots._

"He was also injected with something…I don't know what." Peter said, turning his eyes away from the paramedic to hide the wateriness that appeared as he remembered how much pain Neal had been in at the cabin.

"They'll be sure to run full tests on him. Hopefully it's out of his system with no long term effects." He replied.

The paramedic lifted up the blanket, revealing his bare and battered chest, to check Neal's other wound. Peter could see the dark bruising on his ribs, which looked darker than they really were due to how pale Neal was. He could see the blood soaked gauze that was taped over Neal's stab wound and he winced at the sight. He looked away and instead focused on the up and down movement of Neal's chest. He was afraid if he looked away, Neal would stop breathing.

The paramedic finished taping a fresh piece of gauze to Neal's abdomen, then pulled the blanket back over him up to his neck. He reached for his right hand and placed it over the blanket across his stomach.

"Oh my god. What happened to his hand?" The paramedic asked in surprise. There was too much commotion before and keeping Neal alive had been the priority the past several minutes, so he hadn't noticed his hand.

"I don't know entirely." Peter sighed. "All I know is that at least two bones are broken." He looked down and shook his head, once again hearing Neal's cries of agony on the other end of the phone.

The paramedic carefully turned Neal's hand so it was flat against him, then examined the damage. "From the outside I can see he's broken his 1st metacarpal and index metacarpal, but they appear to be more crushed than just a clean break…he may require surgery for this, which he needs anyway due to this blood clot that has formed at the base of his hand that I can see here." The paramedic said to Peter, but stopped when he saw the pained looked on Peter's face. "Don't worry…we are taking him to the best doctors who will make him as good as new again. And plus, Neal is a fighter. He can pull through this."

Peter wasn't entirely convinced though. He knew Neal was a fighter and that he was going to the best doctors, but the poor kid had been through so damn much already. Peter wished he could just rewind to last night when he dropped him off and instead of leaving him, he would walk up to the door with him. He was supposed to watch out for him but instead he didn't, and now Neal was fighting for his life.

The ambulance stopped, and the paramedic in the back opened the doors and jumped out.

"Stay with him for a minute, the chopper is almost here."

Peter looked back down at Neal. He knew he wouldn't be able to ride in with him—he had pushed his luck too much with the ambulance already—so this would be the last time he'd see him until he was out of surgery, _which would be who knows when._ He held Neal's hand with both of his and rubbed the top of it with his thumb as he held it against his cheek—something El would do.

"I'm so sorry Neal. I'm so, so sorry." He said as he felt his voice catch in his throat.

"'s 'kay." Came a reply that Peter thought he imagined, but then realized he hadn't when he felt Neal's hand tighten around his.

"Neal? Are you there buddy?" Peter asked, moving just inches from Neal.

"Yeah…'m here." Neal said, his voice raspy and eyes still closed.

"You are going to be at the hospital soon. It's going to be okay."

"Thought h-he…killed you." Neal said quietly, his eyelids flickering.

"I'm right here, Neal." Peter said, giving his partner's hand a squeeze of reassurance.

"Dunno wha' I'd do if tha' happened." Neal said, turning his head toward Peter. Peter could see his blue eyes peeking out from the walls of his eyelids.

"Tell me about it. You had me scared for a while there, buddy." Peter said empathetically.

"Sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. This is my fault, Neal. I'm the one who should be sorry…and I am. You didn't deserve this." Peter said.

"'kay. Thanks f'r findin' me. You real good at it." Neal said, his voice still coarse. Peter could tell he was delirious and exhausted from a combination of the pain, stress, and antibiotics they had started to give him.

"You're going to feel much better soon." Peter said, trying to sound positive.

"Hurts." Came the weak reply, and Peter could see Neal's eyes close again.

"I know, I know, just hang in there." Peter said sympathetically, wishing he could take all the pain away from his barely conscious partner.

Neal just nodded slightly, the lines of pain in his face visibly showed.

Peter could hear the chopper approaching and about to land. He said to Neal, "Listen, I…I can't stay with you. They are taking you to a very good hospital to take care of you. I will be there as soon as I can, okay?" Peter said, trying to sound reassuring.

"N-no…stay…" Neal replied, his voice coming out as barely a whisper.

"I promise I will be with you after they take care of you. You've been strong for so long, I just need you to be strong for just a little while more. Can you do that?" Peter asked.

"mhm." Was all Neal replied, but Peter knew it was affirmative. He felt Neal's hand go limp again and he heard his breathing fall into a more steady rhythm. He could hear the paramedics running back to the ambulance, and he took one last look at his partner before he was forced to let go.

"I love you, Neal." He whispered as Neal was carried past him.

Peter watched as Neal, lifeless and pale, was loaded into the chopper. He watched as the chopper took off and disappeared into the distance, and he couldn't help but feel an empty hole in his stomach. He wanted more than anything to be with Neal, and being forced to let him go alone physically hurt Peter. He just wanted to hold him and tell him it's okay, to fix everything that was hurt, and to help him forget the nightmare he'd lived over the past fifteen hours.

Peter was relieved as he saw Diana pulling up to the spot the ambulance had stopped. He walked over and got into the passenger seat.

"I need to get my car, it's back by the cabin." Peter said.

Diana nodded and made a U-turn. She wasn't sure if she should ask Peter how Neal was, especially considering the lines of worry etched in his face, but she did anyway.

Reluctantly she asked, "Boss…how is he?"

Peter stared down at his hands, picturing Neal's pale and bloodied body in the back of the ambulance. "He's…he's not good." He said with a pained sigh. "They are taking him to Colombia and Cornell…apparently that's the best place for someone with his injuries." He added.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I know he'll be okay." Diana said gently.

"How do you know that? How do you know he'll be okay? He was dead a few minutes ago and is now hanging by a thread." Peter replied in an unexpected outburst. Diana was silent, and Peter added, "Sorry…I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"I get it, it's okay. We both know that Neal is a fighter. And now that he knows you are waiting for him, he's not going to let you down." Diana replied.

"Yeah, yeah you are right." Peter said, although he couldn't shake the image of Neal, so fragile and barely living, out of his head.

Diana and Peter arrived at the lot where Peter had first met Wesley. Peter thanked Diana and she told him she would be at the hospital once she was done with paperwork back at the office. Peter reached his car and immediately called El.

"Honey it's me." Peter said.

"Peter? What happened?" She replied, trying to hide the anxiety in her voice.

"We got the suspect, and we got Neal." He said, also trying to keep his voice steady.

"Is Neal okay?" She asked, no longer hiding the worry.

"Listen, I don't want to talk about it over the phone, but just meet me at the Columbia and Cornell University hospital as soon as you can. I'm leaving LaTourette Park right now." Peter said.

"Hospital? Are you alright?" El asked.

"Yes I'm fine." He said, although the pain radiating in his head begged to differ. "It's Neal." He added, trying to keep his voice from wavering.

El could sense that Peter was on the verge of falling apart, either from stress or worry or whatever else he'd been through, so she just replied, "I'll see you there honey, love you." She would rather be there in person when he needed her instead of comforting him over the phone.

"Love you too." He replied, and hung up.

Peter drove away, and as much as he didn't want to, he called Mozzie. He could only imagine how much the little guy had been worrying since he'd last spoken with him.

"Mozzie it's Peter."

"Suit, what happened?"

"I'm on my way to the hospital, Neal was taken by helicopter."

"Oh God, how bad is it?" Mozzie asked, letting his emotionless façade slip aside.

"It's not good. I'm on my way and so is El, are you still with her?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, yeah. I just stepped outside for a while after we last spoke…I needed fresh air. I'll go with her."

"Good, I'll see you there." Peter said, relieved El wouldn't have to drive alone.

"And Suit" Mozzie began. "Thanks for finding him." The line clicked off.

When Peter reached the hospital, he could literally feel the anxiousness and worry eating away at him. During the ride, the whole ordeal, from the second Peter got the phone call from June, was replaying in his head. He didn't want to imagine the pain that Neal was forced to endure, yet he kept imagining it, despite his mind's protests. To make it worse, he couldn't get the images of Neal out of his head, each image worse than the last. It started with finding him in the cabin, the look of fear and anxiety plagued in his eyes, and ended with Neal in the ambulance, whose eyes looked lifeless and shallow. The images finally stopped when Peter saw the hospital, and was relieved when he found a parking spot. He walked into the emergency room and up to the front desk.

"I'm here for Neal Caffrey. He was brought it by chopper recently." Peter said.

"Oh yes." The man behind the desk replied. "I'll let a nurse know you've arrived."

"Any news on him?" Peter asked, somewhat desperate.

"Not that I am aware of, but the nurse will fill you in with everything in just a little bit. You can wait right here." He said, gesturing toward the chairs in the waiting room.

Reluctantly, Peter turned and began to walk toward a chair, however he stopped when he caught sight of his wife walking through the front door. She immediately ran up to him and embraced him for several seconds. When she pulled away, they locked eyes with each other.

"Hi, hon." She said.

"Hi, hon." He replied, then hugged her again. He could see Mozzie walking in just behind her.

"Suit." Mozzie said with his usual greeting.

"Mozzie." Peter said back. He looked at both of them, who both looked eager for him to fill them in, then said, "Let's sit. A nurse will be out soon."

They sat in the chairs closest to the door leading to the rest of the hospital, as if it would help them get news any faster.

Before Peter decided to go into the story about the search for Neal, he pulled El aside, unable to hide the truth any longer.

"Hon, just tell me what happened, please." She said to him.

"Okay. Before I left the house, Wesley texted me, telling me to come alone." He began.

"So that's why you left in such a hurry?"

"Yeah, yeah. Once I had left he sent me the coordinates to meet at, so that's where I went."

"Without any backup?!" Elizabeth asked, widening her eyes in disbelief.

"Hon, I didn't have a choice. He would've killed Neal." He sighed. "So I went, and I met him in a deserted dirt lot. Long story short I was forced to give up my gun in order to get into the cabin where he was keeping Neal. I really didn't have a choice."

"How was he when you saw him?' El asked with concern.

"He wasn't great. His head has a nasty cut and a bruise was forming above his eye, but his hand…oh God El it looked horrible." Peter said, and could see El blink away tears. "While I was kneeling next to him, Wesley hit me, then told me to handcuff myself to a post. I asked him why, and he replied by hitting Neal across the ribs with a pipe." Peter took in another deep breath. Trying to retell the events from the past hour were harder than he anticipated. He simply hated the thought of Neal in pain.

"It's okay hon." El said, rubbing his arm. "What was with the riddles Mozzie was babbling about?"

"Oh…Wesley, that psychopath, decided it would be fun for me to solve riddles. I got the first one, Neal got the second…which Wesley promptly ended after duct taping Neal's mouth shut, and then when I couldn't get the third…" His voice trailed off. "He…" Peter could feel a lump rising in his throat. "He injected Neal with something…and I had to watch as Neal…" Peter let his head fall in his hands; hiding his emotions, especially in front of his wife, was no longer possible. She put her hands on his cheeks, trying to comfort him in any way possible. Peter continued, through a tight and wavering voice, "He was in so much pain…and there was _nothing_ I could do about it." Peter's emotions turned to anger as he felt the guilt and helplessness return. He wanted to kill Wesley for what he'd done, and he wanted more than ever to make him experience the pain he had inflicted on Neal.

"I'm sure you being there, talking him through it, made a big difference." El replied. She knew her husband too well, and also knew he would be the one to pull Neal away from any pain he was in. "So why did Wesley end up taking Neal again?" She asked, trying to get Peter to move past the painful memory.

"Well, the last answer to the riddle was 'coffin' and he said that is where Neal was going. So I…I couldn't let that happen El." He said, fearful to continue.

"Oh God, Peter what did you do?" She asked, but she already knew the answer. She covered her mouth with her hands as the tears welled up in her eyes.

"I couldn't live with myself if he killed Neal because of me…so I told him to take me instead." He said with a sigh. Elizabeth was no longer holding back the tears.

Trying to move past this part of the story as soon as possible, he said, "But he didn't kill me, instead he fired two shots into the ground and told me the only way to find Neal was by using the answers to the riddles. Then he hit me and I blacked out, and when I woke up the FBI was here, thanks to Mozzie, and I called him to figure out where Neal was." Peter said, trying not to upset his wife any further. "Killing me was never part of the plan, so I figured this would buy us more time."

"Oh, honey…I don't know what I'd do if…"

"Shh" Peter said as he hugged his wife closer to him. "Let's go back and sit with Mozzie."

They both walked back and returned to the main waiting area. Mozzie was just where they'd left him.

When they had sat down, Mozzie said, "Alright Suit, give it to me straight, what happened after we got off the phone?"

Peter reported, "Diana and I got to the Kill and I saw Wesley making his way away from the shore. We got to him and arrested him, and then I ran out to the dock looking for Neal. Everything was a mess and I thought it was hopeless until I heard banging about a hundred feet away. I ran towards it, opened to hatch door that was sticking out of the water, and there he was." He paused, remembering the look of pure disbelief in Neal's eyes when he found him. "Neal thought I was dead, and he was more than relieved when he realized I wasn't but…that didn't last long." Peter said, shaking his head.

"What do you mean?" Mozzie asked.

"Wesley stabbed him in the abdomen before throwing him in the submarine, and Neal's adrenaline had worn off so he was overcome with pain. Luckily, the paramedics came in minutes, but when they arrived, Neal didn't have a pulse and wasn't breathing." Peter said, ignoring the shakiness of his voice.

Elizabeth gasped and covered her mouth again. _Poor Neal_ was all she thought. She would give anything to comfort him at the moment.

Peter continued, "But they used a defibrillator, and got him back and breathing on his own again." He could hear both Mozzie and El sigh in relief.

Mozzie was finally the one to speak after a period of silence. "I assume you rode with him, how was he?"

"He was _pale._ He looked like shit, honestly." Peter said, and he was being honest, Neal looked _terrible._ "He woke up a little though…talked to me, sort of." Peter somewhat smiled at the thought. Even though Neal was in a world of hurt, he still tried to comfort Peter. _That damn kid._

El gripped Peter's hand. "It's going to be okay, honey."

Peter smiled at her, but she saw his gaze shift beyond her as she heard the door open.

A young nurse walked through and looked at them.

"Family of Neal Caffrey?"

"That's us." All three of them said in unison.

"Oh." She said, eyeing them curiously. "Please, come with me."

Something in her tone worried Peter. She sounded calm, but almost too calm, like she'd been trained to act that way. _Is she the one that gets to deliver bad news?_

Peter looked at both El and Mozzie and said, "You guys just stay here, I'll come back with the news."

Reluctantly, they agreed, and Peter was thankful for that. If the news was truly bad he knew he wouldn't be able to keep it together anymore, and he didn't want to break down in front of both of them. Peter stood up and followed the nurse through the door, leaving Mozzie and El sitting anxiously in the waiting room. She led him down a hallway and into a smaller room.

"Please, wait here, the doctor will be with you shortly." She said with a small smile, and left, shutting the door quietly behind her. Her tone was still calm, and it made Peter feel sick.

If the news wasn't good, he just wanted to get it over with instead of having pent up anxiety inside him. But the problem was, he wanted the news to be good, although, after seeing Neal, he knew that nothing could really be _good._

 _God Neal, just please be okay._

* * *

Sorry for the somewhat uneventful chapter with lots of dialogue. I'm working on portraying emotions and relationships through what they say. Also, sorry for yet another cliffhanger…I just couldn't decide what direction to take this is, so tell me what you want! I was thinking of the scene from the last episode where Peter finally breaks down in the hospital…it was so sad and heartfelt and riveting…and I want something like that. Also I have no idea about Colombia and Cornell I just searched "Best New York Hospital" and that came up so if that is completely wrong I apologize.

Thanks for sticking with me thus far, it's starting to get wrapped up :)

REVIEW! (Don't worry, this ain't a deathfic)


	11. Patience and Patients

First of all, huge shoutout to **caseylf123** , who has reviewed every single chapter and has seriously renewed my motivation to write this. You are a wonderful person, those reviews mean so much! And thank you to everyone else for all of your kind reviews, I appreciate them more than you know.

I believe there will be one more chapter after this one. It's hard to believe I am wrapping up my very first fanfiction :')

* * *

 **Chapter 11**

Patience and Patients

Peter waited anxiously in the small room. He could no longer sit, and had started to pace back and forth, looking at the various medical posters on the wall. He felt like Neal, who could never sit still, and wished that he could see Neal with his same eccentric energy that lifted up any room he entered. Except now, all the energy was sucked out of him, and his normally beaming smile and bright features were pale, ashen, and solemn. Thinking of him made Peter's stomach twist. _It's my fault he's here. He might not make it and it's all because of me._

Peter's thoughts were interrupted when there was a quiet knock at the door. A young doctor entered quickly and shook Peter's hand.

"I'm Dr. Layton, Mr. Caffrey's surgeon." She said to him, and sat in the chair next to the computer station.

"Peter Burke." He replied, eyeing her anxiously.

"So you are Mr. Caffrey's….?" She asked skeptically.

"He's my partner. I'm an FBI agent." He said. _Neal will get a kick out of that, "Partner"._

"I see." She replied. "Well, you're partner is in rough shape, Mr. Burke. I hate to be blunt, but I am amazed he made it here alive."

 _Not the news I wanted so far, but he's still alive, thank God._ Peter kept his thoughts to himself and simply nodded, telling her to go on.

"I was told by the paramedics that he coded again in the helicopter. Luckily, they revived him quickly, but his body is very weak right now."

Peter tensed at the word "coded." He already saw it happen once, and he couldn't imagine Neal having to be revived again. He knew Neal was running on empty and his body was on the verge of giving up on him. But Neal was still alive and still fighting, so Peter had to keep believing in him too.

Peter finally broke his silence and asked, "So, what's the prognosis now?"

"Upon examination, I can tell the wound to his abdomen is superficial. We will go in to clean it up and make sure there is no underlying damage, but he was stabbed in the best place possible, there are no major organs or arteries there." She replied.

 _Congrats Neal, you were stabbed in the best place possible. God, if we are considering that good news, what can the rest of the prognosis be?_

She continued, "His hand is a little tricky. X-rays showed severe damage to the 1st metacarpal and index metacarpal. Because of the 'explosiveness' I should say, of the injuries, a blood clot formed. However, despite that I believe I can go in and limit the damage."

"Will he regain full use?" Peter asked, thinking of how Neal would react if he couldn't paint or draw anymore.

"We will see how he responds to the procedure. And Mr. Burke, like I said I hate to be blunt, but his hand is the least of his worries right now. He is in critical condition, and I cannot guarantee he will make it through surgery." She took a deep breath. Although she was a professional, dishing out bad news was not her favorite thing. "I just want you to be prepared for every outcome."

Peter felt his face stiffen. After all he'd been through to get Neal back and after all Neal had suffered, he still might not make it.

Peter took a shaky breath before asking, "Okay. What else?"

"The bruising to his ribs is not an immediate concern. He may have cracked one, but it is definitely not life threatening. His head is the main concern. The hits he received have caused elevated intracranial pressure, or ICP. We won't know how bad the damage is until we get inside, however the CT scan indicates significant swelling of the right frontal lobe. Now, we will go in and relieve the pressure on his brain and we can only hope that the damaged brain cells either recover, if it hasn't been too long, or do not cause long-term damage."

Peter felt his chest tighten. His worst fear would be Neal waking up, only to have brain damage or not remembering who he was. He wanted to scream, to curse God for allowing this to happen. Neal didn't deserve this, and Peter would feel guilty for the rest of his life if he didn't pull through.

When Peter didn't respond, the doctor said, "He is being prepped for surgery right now. I normally wouldn't allow this, but you can see him for a minute. After they revived him the second time in the chopper he was in and out of consciousness, but every time he woke he was saying your name." Peter felt a pang in his chest. "I think you being there, letting him know you're here for him, could make a big difference. He may not be awake, but I assure you he can hear you and can sense you're there. It might be what he needs to get him through this."

"Okay." He said immediately after. Peter swallowed and took a deep breath. He stood up and followed the Dr. Layton out the door.

Peter was led into a well-lit room. There were nurses gathered around the center busying themselves with prepping for surgery. Dr. Layton asked them to step back for a minute, and when they did, Peter saw him.

Neal didn't look real. The tubes and wires sticking out of him made Peter feel like he was looking at someone who wasn't Neal—who _couldn't_ be Neal. It was hard to imagine that the charming, energetic, and sarcastic man he knew was lying in front of him, lifeless and struggling to survive. Peter tentatively walked over to the bed he was in and reached a shaky hand out to him. He put his hand on the top of Neal's left, and almost retreated when he felt how cold and limp it was. He looked up to his partner's face, which was still horribly pale, except for the dark smudges beneath his eyes and the dark bruise just above his eyebrow. Peter didn't dare to look at the wound on the other side of his head, and it was heavily bandaged anyway.

He knew he didn't have long, so he tightened his grip on his hand and whispered, "I'm here for you, buddy. El and Mozzie are too. We'll be waiting for you on the other side." He felt like his throat was tightening up, wondering if this would be the last thing he would ever say to him. "I know you can get through this. We still have plenty of time left together. I'm proud of you, Neal okay? Just please make it through this. Be strong buddy, there are people out here that love you and need you to make it through this." Peter let his head fall toward the bed and rested his forehead on Neal's hand. He was no longer holding back the tears that had been fighting to get free for the past hour. Peter Burke was not a man of faith, but he prayed anyway. He lifted his head from Neal's hand, took one last look at him, and walked out the door in a hurry. He met Dr. Layton on the outside, who simply said, "I will do everything I can, I can promise you that." Peter nodded and proceeded down the hallway, not bothering to wipe the tears that clung to his face.

He felt _hot._ His cheeks were flushed with heat and his head felt like it was going to burst. His throat was burning and his eyes were watering and he felt his legs giving out at any second. Once he turned the corner from the room where they were prepping Neal, he let himself fall into one of the hallway hospital chairs. All the emotions that were built up inside him from the day suddenly released, like the dam he had built up had finally been broken down. With no one around, he held his head in his hands, not quieting the sobs that escaped his chest. The pain he was feeling was like no other. He hadn't realized how much he had cared for Neal until he had to wonder if he'd ever see him again. The thought of having to go back to the office without him was unbearable. He loved—although he'd never admit it—seeing Neal sitting at his desk, usually playing with a pen or flipping his hat on and off. Peter always picked on him for the extravagant suits he'd waltz around it, but secretly, Peter admired his passion, and plus, he looked damn good in those suits. Thinking of Neal made Peter feel both better and worse. Better in the sense of how much he would appreciate him from now on, and how much of an impact Neal had made on his life. Worse in the sense that seeing Neal again wasn't a guarantee. Peter, after several minutes, finally took in a shaky breath and wiped his eyes. Peter Burke was a strong man, he could hide his emotions, or at least put on a mask when he was hurting. But after _this,_ Peter felt broken. He felt weak, and he needed to relieve the pressure of the pent up emotions inside him. He knew he would have to strong when he went back to El and Mozzie, so after his brief breakdown, he stood up and began walking back toward the waiting area. _Be strong for them. Be strong for Neal._

When he walked in, Elizabeth immediately stood up and rushed over to him. Although Peter tried to hide it, she knew he was hurting. She hugged him tightly and walked back over to Mozzie with her arms still wrapped around his side.

"So?" Mozzie asked. Elizabeth didn't have the nerves to.

"He's…alive." Peter said, trying to sound positive, but the words that escaped his mouth betrayed him. "He's going into surgery. The doctor said she will do the best she can." Peter kept his eyes focused on his hands. There was no way he could make eye contact with Mozzie or El while he delivered the news. He continued, "They need to relieve the pressure in his head, but besides that, nothing else is life threatening." He didn't feel like going into details about the rest of Neal's injuries, and he definitely didn't want to tell them that Neal coded _again_ on the way over. "You guys should go, get some rest. I'll call you if there's any news."

Peter could feel both El and Mozzie's glares penetrating his skin.

"There's no way in hell we are going _anywhere._ We wait together." El said, to his surprise.

Peter, not feeling up for arguing, simply said, "Then we'll wait."

They waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

El had dozed off on Peter's shoulder after a few hours and Mozzie had taken a walk to stretch his legs, but Peter remained seated, motionless. His eyes had drifted off to the far wall and he let his mind wander to the depths of his subconscious. He thought of Neal, mostly. How he spent so long trying to catch him, trying to catch the _criminal_ known as Neal Caffrey. How he caught him again and sent him back to prison, but how the second time he was caught, Neal looked at him with amazement and conviction. He requested a meeting, to which Peter obliged after Neal told him that the red band on his shoulder was the security strip to the new Canadian one hundred dollar bill. He thought of how serious and even _excited_ Neal was as he dutifully presented his plan to become Peter's CI, tracking anklet and all. Peter originally thought his plan was ridiculously, and promptly denied it, but after consideration and a talk with El, he changed his mind and allowed the criminal he once pursued to become the consultant that would ride in the car beside him. Peter was happy he gave Neal a chance, but he couldn't help wonder what would've happened if he didn't. _Well he wouldn't be here, fighting for his life, for starters._ Except, he'd be in prison, serving the extra four years tacked on to his sentence. All of his skills would be of no use, and after he was released, he'd most likely go back to his life of crime. Peter could see in Neal's face, the way he carried himself while on the job, wasn't a look of fakery. He truly _enjoyed_ working with Peter and helping others. Neal would never admit it, but Peter knew he liked being on his side of the law.

Peter's eyes shifted back into focus and he looked down at his watch. It was already past 6 o'clock. _Have we really been here this long?_ They had found Neal a little before noon, and by the time Peter got to the hospital, it was approaching 1:00pm. He figured Neal had been in surgery for over four hours, and he had no idea who much longer it would take.

Diana and Jones had stopped by, but couldn't stay due to the situation back at the office. They were digging everything up on Wesley's past and sending teams out to the cabin and his apartment in the city. They wished Peter well, and reminded him that Neal was strong and would be back in the office annoying everyone in no time. Peter forced a smile at that, but his lips returned to a frown when he remembered how worried June must be. He really didn't wasn't in the mood to call her, especially with Neal in surgery, but felt he owed it to her to be honest.

"Hi June." He said weakly on the phone.

"Peter! Did you find him? Is he okay?" She asked anxiously, as if she'd been waiting by the phone all day.

"Yes, we have him, but he's at the hospital in surgery. I promise I'll explain more once he's out. I just wanted to let you know." Peter replied.

"Oh my God, surgery?" She gasped. "What hospital?" She said, not asking Peter's permission. No one could stop her from coming, not even Peter Burke.

Not wanting to tell her to stay home, he said, "Colombia and Cornell. We've been here for hours, you really don't have to come if you don't want to." However, he figured that the more people that were there that cared about Neal, the better. He liked what Dr. Layton said about Neal being able to sense they were there. Maybe it was bogus, or just a coping strategy, but he believed that if anyone could sense them, it was Neal.

"I can't come by today, but I will be there first thing tomorrow, see you soon." June said.

Peter ended the call and put his phone away. He turned his head and saw Mozzie approaching.

"Hey," was all Peter could manage.

"Hey," Mozzie replied as he sat down. The waiting was wearing on all of them, even Mozzie, who didn't even add his infamous "Suit" when addressing Peter.

After a few minutes of silence, Mozzie said, "You know, he always has an exit plan. He always has a way out."

Peter let out a small laugh and said, "Yeah, when he's stealing something." His smiled faded when he added, "This is different Mozzie, he's fighting for his life."

"If anyone can make it, it's him. We know Neal." Mozzie's voice was stronger and more convincing than Peter's could've been at the time, which somewhat surprised him. He was right after all. Neal was strong and a fighter. He wouldn't give up no matter what, and that thought made Peter feel slightly more convinced that he'd be okay.

They both jumped when the door behind them swung open. El lifted her head off Peter's shoulder and they all stared at the nurse who entered with anticipation.

"Peter Burke?" she said.

Peter rose.

"Please, come with me."

He nodded at Mozzie and El. Their eyes were begging him to return with good news, but they all knew he had no control over that.

When they were walking down the hallway, Peter couldn't contain his anxiety to find out the news.

"Do you know anything?" He asked the nurse.

"I'll let Dr. Layton update you on his condition. She has the full report." She said, trying to sound sympathetic.

"But…But is he—? He couldn't finish the question.

However, the nurse knew what he was going to say, and replied, "He's alive Mr. Burke, I can tell you that. But please, don't get your hopes up until you speak with the doctor."

Peter felt a combination of relief and dread. He was relieved that Neal was alive, _obviously,_ but dreaded what she could have discovered in surgery. He prepared himself for the worst as he sat down in the same small room as before and waited for the doctor.

Thankfully, Dr. Layton came in fairly quickly. She shook his hand again and sat down on the same stool as before.

She took a deep breath, evidently exhausted from the procedure she had performed, before saying, "He's stable, as of now." Peter felt a weight get lifted off his chest. "We were able to relieve the pressure in his head. There was no evidence of significant damage to the brain that I could see, but we'll know more when he wakes up. He does have a skull fracture, which I was worried about, and the small fragments broke some blood vessels, but like I said, if any significant damage is there, it is unnoticeable right now." She reported.

"When…" Peter cleared his throat. "When will he wake up?"

"He's in a medically induced coma right now." She stopped when she saw Peter tense. "Don't worry, it's the best thing for him. We need to have all his energy directed toward healing." _El would certainly like that phrase._ He'd use it when he told her the news. Dr. Layton continued, "We'll ween him off it in a few days and monitor his response to the treatment and medication. If he does well, we will take him off and let him wake up on his own."

"What about everything else?" Peter asked, still trying not to get his hopes up.

"The stab wound was like I predicted, so we patched that up and it should heal fine. His hand was another story, and it's hard to say for certain how he'll heal." She said as she looked up at Peter with empathy. "If he wakes up, he'll have to go through at least one more surgery. We put pins in place where the bones were broken. With luck, his bones will heal normally and we can remove the pins if the trauma and swelling didn't cause too much stress on his hand."

Peter wasn't really listening anymore. After he heard " _if he wakes up"_ he felt his chest tighten again. He hadn't realized he was gripping his chair until his hand started to go numb.

Dr. Layton could sense his discomfort, and said, "Listen Mr. Burke, with any other patient I'd say their chances were slim, but Neal is different. He's not ready to give up on us, especially after making it this far." Peter forced a small smile up at her. She patted his knee as she stood up, then said, "You can come with me back to the waiting area."

"I can't see him?" Peter asked. His voice sounded so small and lost, and he immediately felt helpless.

"I'm afraid not. He is being closely monitored and we don't want any outside circumstances affecting his response to the surgery and treatment. If he does well through the night, you can see him tomorrow." She replied.

She led Peter back to the waiting room. El once again ran up to embrace Peter tightly. Peter was thankful Dr. Layton decided to fill Mozzie and El in on everything because he simply did not have the energy to real off Neal's prognosis and various list of issues.

After answering all of their questions and concerns, Dr. Layton said, "You guys should go home and get some rest. We will call if anything changes, and you can be here first thing tomorrow if you want."

Peter was about to protest, _there is no way in hell I am leaving here,_ but El grabbed his arm and said, "You are right, that is probably the best idea."

They shook hands and Dr. Layton disappeared behind the doors.

"Honey," El began. "I know you want to stay, but we aren't doing any good being here. She said we might get to see him tomorrow, and it won't help him if you are tired and cranky."

Peter sighed, and reluctantly agreed. He looked down at his hands and clothes where he could still see smudges of Neal's blood. He needed to change and shower, and throw away the clothes he was wearing. He could wash out the blood, but he'd always be able to see it, even if it wasn't really there.

All three of them walked out of the hospital together. El insisted that they all drive together, and convinced Peter to leave his car overnight. He was thankful for that, because he was exhausted and driving was the last thing he wanted to do. Also, the adrenaline from the day had worn off, and his previous priority of worry and stress had dissipated, and he could feel his head beginning to throb where Wesley had pistol-whipped him. He didn't want to worry El, or have to walk back into that hospital, so he just took some aspirin and decided to deal with it in the morning.

All three arrived at the Burke house past seven. It was hard to believe that the nightmare began for Peter over twelve hours ago. Mozzie grabbed his stuff from the coffee table and despite El's protests that he should stay for dinner, he left and said he'd see them at the hospital in the morning. Peter collapsed on the couch and pet Satchmo, who had taken the liberty of putting his head in Peter's lap. Peter immediately felt like he could sleep. He hadn't realized how much of a toll the day had taken on him, and this was the first time he had truly "relaxed." He wasn't hungry _at all,_ but El still heated up leftovers for both of them, which they ate silently. They both knew the other was thinking of Neal, however there were no words to express how they were feeling.

Peter went up to shower and change. When he finally got in bed, he felt himself slip into darkness rather quickly. El climbed in next to him, and fell asleep next to her husband.

Peter slept well, to start, but that quickly faded when his mind started to wander into the past day's events. He dreamed they were back in the cabin, and Peter had just solved the last riddle.

" _Coffin."_ Peter said smugly at Wesley.

" _Wow Peter, I can't say I'm not surprised. I'm glad you mentioned it, because your friend here could use a_ coffin _in a few moments."_ Wesley raised his gun at Neal, and without warning, pulled the trigger twice. Peter saw Neal's eyes widen in shock and then look down at the two expanding red spots on his shirt. Neal slumped over, eyes closed, and not breathing.

" _No! That's not supposed to happen! You sick son-of-a—"_

Before Peter could finish, he felt two hands on his shoulders and his eyes shot open, revealing the ceiling of his bedroom. He sat up sharply, and only felt the tension release when he saw Elizabeth staring at him with concern.

"Hon?" She asked, still unsure if Peter was pulled from his daze.

"Yeah…yeah I'm here." He panted. He didn't realize until now that he was sweating.

"It's okay, everything is fine. You were dreaming." She said soothingly.

He sighed and looked at her. "I know, I know. It just seemed so real." He looked over at the clock, it was still before 5:00am. He figured he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, not after his mind kept replaying the image of Neal getting shot and killed by Wesley. "I'm going to get up and make some coffee, you can stay here if you want."

"I'll come down in a little bit after I shower. No sense in going back to sleep at this point." She gave him a reassuring smile.

Peter left the bedroom and stumbled down the stairs to the kitchen. His head was still throbbing and he felt extremely dizzy. _Maybe I should get this checked out._ He agreed with himself when he caught a glimpse of his forehead in the reflection from the mirror on the wall. He could tell the cut above his eye had swollen and turned a darker shade of purple than before. He decided he's get it checked out after they got an update on Neal's condition.

Peter took out two mugs and started making coffee for him and El. As he impatiently waited for the coffee pot to fill, he couldn't stop thinking of Neal and whether he made it through the night okay. _They would have called if he wasn't okay right? They wouldn't wait for us to come, would they?_

In the middle of his internal dilemma, his phone buzzed to life on the counter. He felt his heart jump in his chest and he quickly answered it.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Burke? It's Dr. Layton."

 _Oh God, why is she calling this early?_

"Oh my God, what's wrong?" He asked anxiously.

She paused. "I…I can't believe I'm saying this, but he's responding incredibly well to treatment. He's still in the ICU, but with his progress, we expect him to be moved within the day."

Peter felt like he could cry, except finally they would be tears of joy.

"He's going to be okay?" He asked, ignoring the lump in his throat.

"He's not completely out of the woods, but if he keeps this up, I am confident he will be okay. We may even start the process of waking him up today. You can come by in the next hour, if you'd like." She replied.

"Thank you so, so much. We'll be there in an hour!" He couldn't contain his excitement. He forgot about the pain in his head and practically sprinted up the stairs. He reached the bedroom and saw El drying her hair. She turned off the dryer and turned to him questioningly.

He smiled—a genuine smile—and hugged her.

"He's going to be okay."

* * *

Yay! Finally, worried Peter gets slight relief. I plan on having lots of conversation between Neal and everyone at the hospital, especially during the process of him waking up and fading in and out. Figured we need some light humor, father/son moments, El/June mother hen moments, as well as heartfelt dialogue between everyone, especially after everything that has happened. There may still be some surprises so stick with me!

Thank you for reviewing! More reviews=faster updates! ;)


	12. The Waiting Game

Kind of a long one, but everything I promised is in here, for the most part, as well as a bit of a twist at the end!

Enjoy! (Any mistakes are mine, I still don't own White Collar)

* * *

 **Chapter 12**

The Waiting Game

After hugging El, Peter shuffled into the closet and practically threw his clothes on. His excitement was shown in his newfound energy and El took notice.

"Hon, it's still early, just try not to get too excited," she said, not wanting Peter to get overly-excited and then have his hopes crushed.

However, Peter didn't seem to hear her. He replied, "C'mon hon, let's go! We'll get breakfast at the hospital. I'll meet you downstairs, I'm going to call Mozzie and June."

El sighed and continued to dry her hair. She too, was excited, but she knew it had only been a day since the doctors were unsure on whether Neal would survive, therefore it was too early to be completely relieved.

She finished changing and walked downstairs. Peter was just getting off the phone with Mozzie.

"Alright, yeah, I'll see you there." He said almost cheerfully.

He hung up the phone and turned to his wife, greeting her with a smile.

"Ready?" He asked.

"Yep, let's go."

The ride to the hospital was mostly uneventful. Peter told El that both Mozzie and June would be joining them later in the day; he had woken both of them with his phone call, however each was just as excited as him. Finally they arrived and pulled into the nearest spot. It took all of Peter's willpower not to sprint into the hospital and into Neal's room. Instead, he walked next to his wife with anxiousness powerful enough to bring down the building.

When he reached the front desk Peter asked, "We're here for Neal Caffrey. Dr. Layton called us."

"Oh yes," replied the nurse behind the counter. "Take a seat and she'll be right with you."

 _Great, more waiting._

Luckily, the morning was slow, and Dr. Layton walked through the door a few minutes after they sat down. She looked at them and smiled, saying, "Come with me, please."

Peter and El followed behind her. Peter was about to ask about Neal's condition but Dr. Layton beat him to it. She said, "His vitals are stable as of now. There are no complications in his head so far and swelling is to a minimum. Hopefully, if all goes well, he'll be waking up soon. But be mindful, it will be several days before he is able to _stay_ awake and seem back to normal."

Peter and El both sighed in relief. Peter then asked, "So can we see him?"

"Yes, of course. It's just down the hall." Dr. Layton replied. "Like I said before, I think people being around him really helps. I know that is unconventional thinking, but I'm a firm believer of it. I was truly unsure if he would make it through surgery, but his vitals never faltered throughout the whole procedure."

Peter felt El squeeze his hand. He looked at her and gave her a small smile. They were both happy to hear that they could be with Neal and play a part in his healing process, supposedly. Whether it was true or not, they both took comfort in the idea.

They reached Neal's room, but before going in, Dr. Layton paused and faced them. Her face turned serious, and she said, "I know I told you he is doing well, but I should warn you, he doesn't look good. All of the stress, lack of sleep, and injuries really took a toll on him, so he may look very bad to you, especially compared to how you are used to seeing him."

Peter frowned. He hadn't thought about how Neal would look after a day. He was used to Neal being perfectly groomed and gleaming, so this was bound to be a shock. He pictured him in the ambulance, so pale and battered, and wondered how his injuries looked now. Dr. Layton then opened the door, and Peter stepped in in front of El.

The room was slightly dimmed, but Peter could still make out Neal's features. He walked over cautiously and took a seat next to the bed Neal was in. He took a deep breath before lifting his eyes to look over Neal's body. He clenched his jaw as he looked at Neal's face. He was still so pale, almost blending in with the white linen on the bed. His normally groomed face had two-day old stubble peeking out and his hair was a mess. The bruising above his eye was a deep purple that faded down around his eye socket. His eyes looked sunken in, which was exemplified by the dark circles beneath them. Peter was glad the wound on his head was wrapped so he couldn't see it. But still, Neal looked so fragile and broken lying there. Peter felt a pang in his chest. Seeing Neal in this state was not something he could get used to, or wanted to get used to. He looked down at his hand, which was heavily bandaged, and frowned. Even if Neal did get better, they still didn't know if his hand would be okay. He noticed Neal's left wrist was bandaged as well, obviously from the wire cuts.

El stood behind Peter and put her hands on his shoulders. She could sense his discomfort and said, "He's alive hon, that's something to be thankful for." Peter just nodded slightly.

"Also, he is breathing on his own." Dr. Layton said from the door.

Peter hadn't noticed Neal wasn't hooked up to a ventilator, _especially since he had so many other things hooked up to him,_ but he was thankful that Neal didn't have to rely on a machine to breath.

Dr. Layton continued, "You guys can stay as long as you like. Just make sure any visitors check in with the front desk." She closed the door quietly and left Peter and El in silence, besides the beeping from the heart monitor.

El decided that she should give Peter a few moments alone, so she said, "I'm gonna go grab some breakfast, and I'll bring you something back." She took a step toward Neal, leaned down, and kissed him on the forehead. _He looks so young_ was all she could think as she walked away. Neal's usual confidence and outfits made him seem older, but seeing him vulnerable like this reminded El that he was really still just a kid. She couldn't help but feel like a worried mother. She left quietly and closed the door, leaving Peter alone with Neal.

Peter hadn't really been listening to El when she left, he was too deep in thought. The guilt that had begun to fade when he learned Neal was okay was starting to resurface. Looking at him in this condition made Peter feel sick. _I'm responsible for this. He wouldn't be lying here if it weren't for me._ He reached out his hand and put it over Neal's. He was relieved when it felt warm instead of frigid like before.

Hesitantly, he began, "Hey, buddy…" but looked back down at his hand. It felt awkward talking to Neal when he couldn't respond. But Peter remembered what Dr. Layton said about the "positive healing effect" that his presence could have, so he continued, "Listen, Neal, I'm here and so is El. Mozzie and June are coming too. We've all been real worried about you…it was touch and go there for a while…" He took a shaky breath, suddenly flashing back to Neal going into cardiac arrest on the docks. "…but…you pulled through, Neal. I'll be here waiting for you to wake up again. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I've actually missed your unnecessary comments and sarcastic remarks. The car isn't the same without you next to me." He felt himself smile slightly, imagining all the times he and Neal had argued about something in the car, and how Neal would end it by saying something witty, which would only anger Peter further. However, that had become part of Peter's routine, and he had gotten to like Neal's conversations with him, even if some of the things he said irritated him a little. Peter patted Neal's hand and leaned back in his chair. He figured he would be there for a while, so he might as well attempt to get comfortable.

Over the next several hours, Peter and El remained by Neal's bedside, sharing various stories about him. El's favorite was the one where Neal came over in the morning, just a day after he became Peter's consultant, and Peter received a call that he was out of his radius. Peter ran downstairs telling El that Neal had run, only to find Neal on the couch, talking to his wife. El laughed at the recollection.

A few hours after they got there, Mozzie came by. Now that he knew Neal was going to be okay, he decided not to stay long, due to his irrational fear of hospitals.

"Really, Mozzie? You're not going to stay?" Peter asked.

"There's no need for me. The longer I stay here, the more x-ray radiation and chemical waste I'm being exposed to, and not to mention the government is probably tracing my brain waves by this point." He replied.

Peter and El both scoffed and rolled their eyes at him.

"Hey, I came didn't I?" He said defensively. "Just call me if anything changes or if he wakes up." Mozzie said before he strolled away.

It was past noon, and still nothing had changed, which wasn't unexpected. On a few occasions nurses came in to check his vitals and alter what was in his IV. One informed them that Neal was completely weaned off the drugs that would keep him in a coma, and therefore, it was up to him when he would wake up. She also reminded them that Neal was still on a lot of medication, mostly for pain and possible infection, and those would cause him to be seriously disoriented when he woke up. Therefore, they shouldn't be surprised if he seems confused or loopy when he wakes. El and Peter both nodded at her comments.

A knock at the door made both Peter and El jump. Both had become engaged in other things. Peter was reviewing some of the cold case files and El was looking at a magazine for products for her company. They both turned to see June enter, who greeted them with a smile.

"How's he doing?" She asked.

Peter answered, "He still hasn't woken, but his vitals are stable. He could wake up at any time, they say."

"Oh good. Listen, can I have a little time alone with him?" June asked.

El jumped out of her seat and said, "Of course. We need to get lunch anyway." She gave Peter a look that said " _Let's go"_ and he quickly caught on and left with her.

Once she was alone, June sat next to Neal.

"Oh you poor thing." She said sympathetically as she looked at his bruised face and bandaged hand. "I do have something that should cheer you up though." She said as she reached into her purse. She pulled out one of Neal's favorite hats and held it up as she looked it over. "I've always liked this one. It looked great on Byron, but it looks even better on you." She smiled and hung the hat next to his IV bag. "I can't wait to see you all dressed up again. I've missed you the past two days." She took his hand in both of hers and fell silent. Seeing Neal like this was hard for her, and she hated to imagine the pain that he was in. However, she didn't let it show, and she said to him, "Now you get yourself all better. _Our_ house just isn't the same without you in it." She smiled at him, although she knew he couldn't see her. "I'll come by when you wake up, sweetie." She said as she kissed his hand. She got up and walked out the door, seeing Peter and El approaching from the left hallway.

"I'll be back when he wakes up." June said.

"Okay, you are welcome to stay." El replied.

"Oh yes, I know. Once he's up and talking again you'll have to force me out, so I figured I'll give you guys and him some space for now." She said with a laugh. She gave them both a hug and walked down the hall and through the doors to the waiting room.

El and Peter both walked back into Neal's room. It was past 3:00pm, and the waiting was wearing on them. El knew that Peter wasn't going to leave, especially since Hughes had told him not to come in the next few days, so she said, "Hon, I'm going to get home to make sure Satch is okay. I'll feed him and then I'll be back in a few hours. Is that alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, are you sure? We can call a neighbor to take care of him." Peter replied.

"No it's alright. I need to get out of here for a little bit. No offense Neal, but you're pretty boring for once." She said with a sly smile toward Neal.

"Oh just wait until he hears that one." Peter said, shaking his head but smiling at her.

El left and left Peter alone again in the dimly lit room. He started to look over the case file but found it hard to focus because the sun was starting to disappear into the November night. Despite wanting to stay awake, he felt himself slip into sleep in the uncomfortable chair.

Something made Peter wake. He thought he heard something, but he looked around and saw nothing, just Neal in the same position as before. He shook his head and tried to wipe the tiredness from his eyes. He pulled out the case file again, but stopped when he noticed that the steady rhythm of Neal's breathing had changed. He looked at him, seeing that his breaths were sharper and shorter, and he also noticed his eyelids starting to flicker.

"Neal? Neal can you hear me?" Peter asked, leaning toward him.

Neal didn't respond.

"Hey buddy, are you there?"

Neal still didn't answer, but Peter could see him move his head slightly.

Peter grabbed Neal's hand, and right when he did, he saw Neal's eyes blink partially open. He was squinting, but Peter could see Neal's bright blue eyes beneath his dark eyelashes.

"Neal, it's Peter. We are at the hospital."

Neal's eyes opened a little more, a look of confusion on his face. But after a few seconds he seemed to understand. He tried to speak, but his throat was too dry to allow any words to come out.

"Hey, don't try to talk. I'll get a nurse in here." He said as he pushed the call button. He felt Neal increase his grip on Peter's hand, which he figured was Neal's way of reassuring him that he understood.

Almost immediately, a nurse walked in the door. "Everything okay?" She asked Peter.

"He's awake!" He said, pointing at Neal, who was sleepily looking at him.

She walked over to his bedside and looked at his vitals. "Heart rate is elevated, but that is expected." She flashed a light in Neal's eyes. "Pupils equally responsive." She put the small flashlight away and looked at Neal. "Neal, I know your throat is probably very dry, so don't try to talk. We'll get you some ice chips once you are more awake. But I need to know, are you in pain? Blink once for yes, two for no." Neal blinked once. Peter frowned to learn that Neal was hurting. "Okay, I'll increase the flow on your IV, you'll feel better in a few minutes." She twisted a nob on the IV line. Peter saw Neal's eyes close after a few seconds.

"This will make him sleep for a while more. I know you are eager to talk with him, but we need to let him heal as much as possible. Each time he wakes will be for longer, I promise." She said to Peter.

"Thank you, I'm glad to hear that." He said back.

"Also, Dr. Layton told me to get you checked out. I think we've all noticed that bruise on your head. Come with me and you can come back here as soon as we're done."

Reluctantly, Peter went with her. He had forgotten how much his head was hurting, mostly thanks to the aspirin, but the pain and lightheadedness was returning, so he figured he should get checked out.

After he returned, he sat back down, conflicted about what had happened. He was happy that he got to see Neal awake, but disappointed that he couldn't talk to him. He was also disappointed to hear that he had a concussion himself, however only a slight one. He leaned back in the chair and took a deep breath.

 _More waiting it is._

* * *

He felt like he was floating. Where he was, he didn't know, but all he knew was that wherever he was he was floating. He was in the abyss of darkness with only the company of his mind. However, rational thought began to creep back into his mind and suddenly he was aware of dull pain radiating throughout his entire body. _What happened?_ He realized his eyes must be closed, hence the darkness, so he tried to open them, but to no avail. He then realized the scratchy, dry sensation lurking in the back of his throat, which he attempted to clear, but only mustered a raspy cough. Then suddenly, there was a voice muffled through the darkness.

 _"…there? Can you hear me?"_

Something about it was so familiar. It was comforting to hear.

 _"C'mon buddy, wake up!"_

 _Buddy? Oh, Peter!_ Neal forced his eyes open, only to be blinded by the light above him, despite how dim it was. He squinted painfully around the room, turning his head to the left, where he located Peter. Upon seeing him, Neal felt his heart feel full and it began to beat harder in his chest.

"Hey Neal, welcome back." Peter said, smiling at him.

Neal was going to say, "Didn't realize I left" but the dryness in his throat didn't allow any words, and all that came out was the same raspy cough.

"Dry throat?" Peter asked.

Neal nodded, and felt relieved when Peter got a nurse who brought him a cup of ice chips.

"Hi Neal, can you hear me?"

He nodded. _Why is everyone asking that?_

"Great. Now we are going to take this slow." He felt himself being pushed more upright as she adjusted his bed. A sudden wave of dizziness overtook him and he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for it to pass. "Are you alright?" He nodded again, not wanting to go back to sleep with his dry throat. She held up a spoon with a small amount of ice, which he gladly took. The coolness on his tongue was heavenly, and soothed his sore throat. She repeated this several times, each time feeling better than the previous one.

He looked over at Peter, who was standing a few feet behind her. Neal smiled at him, although that smile was nothing compared to the Neal Caffrey beaming con-man smile, but he figured it was better than nothing.

The nurse left the cup on the tray in front of Neal and said, "If you need anything, I'm just down the hall." She left Peter and Neal alone.

Peter walked over to Neal and sat next to the bed.

"H-Hi…" Neal began, and felt himself stifle a cough. He noticed outside the windows was completely dark.

"Hey Neal." Peter replied, placing his hand over Neal's. "How you feeling?"

"Like…crap." Neal admitted, closing his eyes again and leaning back against the pillow.

"If you're in pain, I can get the nurse." Peter said, concerned.

"No…no, not yet. I…" He cleared his throat again. "I don't want to sleep yet."

He sounded like a pouty child who didn't want to go to bed at bedtime. Peter understood that it must be hard for him, though. Being forced to let your body heal and take it easy was hard for anyone, especially for someone who is always up and about like Neal.

Neal continued, "Wha' happened? After cabin?"

"Listen, I'll tell you all about it later. The important thing is that we found you and got you here safe and sound, and you are going to be okay." Peter did his best to smile at him. Neal still looked so pale and ragged.

"I knew you'd fin' me." Neal said.

"I always do." Peter replied. Neal laughed slightly, wincing at the sudden movement in his ribs.

Just then, El walked in. She stopped immediately and smiled at both of them. "Neal! You're awake."

"So I've been told." He replied, giving a small smile back.

"He's using sarcasm to mask the pain. I'm getting a nurse, hon. You stay with him." Peter said, then left.

El walked over and took Peter's seat next to Neal's bed. She enveloped her hands in his left, and stared into the sleepy blue eyes looking up at her.

"I'm so glad you're okay…well, sort of okay." She said.

"Yea' but…" He drifted off, his eyes looking down toward his chest where his hand was lain across.

"But what?"

"My…hand…"

"Oh sweetie, that is the least of your worries right now. We didn't know if you'd…make it through the night, but here you are, alive and talking to me. If miracles like that can happen, I wouldn't worry about your hand." She said, stroking his other hand.

"'kay." Came the tired reply.

"I know you're tired. It's getting late anyway so you should sleep."

"Wil' you stay?" He asked, eyes closed.

"We aren't going anywhere, Neal." She replied, still rubbing his hand.

Peter returned with the nurse and she gave Neal more pain medication. His breathing evened out and his heart rate slowed as he fell into a deep sleep. They knew he would be asleep for a while, so El forced Peter to leave for a little bit to call June and Mozzie, and attempt to eat some of the bland hospital food in the cafeteria.

A few hours later, after Peter had updated Mozzie and June (who both would come by first thing in the morning the next day), El and Peter had fallen asleep in Neal's room. The nurse had brought in a small cot, which Peter gave to El, and he decided to stay in the chair, despite how uncomfortable it was. However, being near Neal was comforting, and that was enough to make him stay. It was well past midnight, and Peter was thankful for the sleep that came over him.

* * *

Neal woke up to find himself in an all too familiar place. The concrete ground, the wooden walls, the front door, the man— _Wesley. Wait, why am I here? Oh my God, Peter never found me. It was all a dream._

"It's about time you woke up." Came the high, raspy, all around disgusting voice. Neal felt his blood run cold. "You almost missed the fun!" As he said that, he went behind Neal and dragged a semi-conscious Peter with him and dropped him at Neal's feet.

"Oh my God, Peter! What did you do to him?!" Neal yelled. He looked at Peter, who was bloodied and beaten, hands cuffed behind his back.

"I was going to kill him right away, but once I got him out there I couldn't resist. I wanted to cause him just as much pain as he caused me."

"You're sick."

"You're right." Wesley replied as he raised the gun at Peter's head.

"Wait, no!" Neal screamed. He looked into Peter's eyes, which were tired and hopeless. All the light that used to sparkle in the deep brown center had vanished and was replaced with defeat. Peter dropped his head, giving up. Seeing Peter like that was torture enough for Neal. Peter Burked never gives up, and here he was accepting his murder.

Wesley pulled the trigger, and before Neal could cry out, the wooden walls and the concrete floor and Peter's bloody figure disappeared, and out of the darkness appeared white walls and white sheets and a lot of worried faces.

"Neal, hey Neal, are you with us?" A nurse said as she flashed a light in his eyes.

Except Neal didn't hear her. All he could see in his mind was Peter, lifeless in front of him, with Wesley standing over him, smirking with the gun out in front of him.

"No! Peter! No!" he yelled. He could feel his body tighten. He didn't know if his eyes were closed or not, or what was real or a dream, but the gut-wrenching idea that Peter was murdered in front of him rendered his rationality obsolete.

 _"He's non-responsive. Get the doctor, now!"_ a voice to his left said.

"Peter! Pe—" he couldn't finish. He felt like his muscles were wound up with a crank, tightening them beyond any possibility, and he faded into blackness, unaware of anything around him.

 _"He's seizing! 100 milligrams of Carbamazepine stat!"_

A few seconds ago, Peter and El were sleeping peacefully, but now, they were backed into the corner watching an entire team of nurses try to pull Neal from his episode. First, Neal's heart monitor had gone off, indicating that his heart rate had gone up significantly. Second, Peter woke up to see Neal, shifting his head back and forth restlessly with an expression of worry and stress written on his face, as well as a thin sheen of sweat. Third, Peter put his hand on Neal's forehead to try to relax him, and pulled back immediately when he felt the burning heat radiating from Neal's skin. Fourth, Neal started thrashing violently, and Peter yelled at every nurse in the hall to get in there. And now, here he was, watching his friend seizing in front of him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"He was _fine_ a few hours ago, _how_ could this happen?" Peter asked El, his voice strained and his eyes still locked on the commotion in front of him.

"Honey, try to relax, they will take care of him." She replied, trying to be comforting but not able to hide the shakiness in her voice.

A nurse then approached them and told them they needed to wait outside.

"But—but what's happening? _Please."_ Peter didn't mask the desperation in his voice.

"The doctor will explain everything, just let us do our job right now." She replied tensely and walked back toward Neal, who was no longer seizing, but his body was rigid and his breathing labored. The nurses were still frantically working around him.

The door shut and Peter and El were left in the hallway alone. They could hear the doctors and nurses giving orders and shifting things around. Peter felt weak. It was 4 in the morning and the exhaustion Peter was facing did not go well with the sudden onset of worry and fear. He leaned against the wall and let himself slide to the floor, resting his forehead on his right knee. El sat next to him and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Hon, it's going to be okay." El said, unsure of what else she could possibly say.

"I just…I can't…" Peter exhaled. "I can't lose him again, El." He wiped the tears that were trying to fall from his eyes.

"You won't lose him. He's strong, remember? He would never leave you."

"Yeah, I gue—" but before Peter could finish, the door to Neal's room swung open and a parade of nurses came out, pushing Neal's bed into the hall.

"What…what's happening?" Peter asked frantically when he caught sight of the on-duty doctor.

"Take him to OR Room 2!" He yelled before looking at Peter, his eyes filled with anxiousness.

"He developed an infection which led to a serious fever. That, along with the bleeding between the brain and his skull, led to a seizure…which has been known to happen to people with traumatic head injuries. We are taking him to surgery to relieve the pressure that developed again. Dr. Layton has been called. I'm sorry, but I need to go." He said quickly as he jogged after the nurses toward the OR.

Peter was standing, but he felt like he could collapse at any moment. El grabbed his arm and they both took a seat in the hallway. They both were speechless, unable to comprehend what had occurred in front of them.

 _He was fine a minute ago, but now he's anything but fine._ Peter's thoughts were racing.

 _God, Neal. Please be okay._

* * *

I planned on ending it in this chapter but it got too long so it looks like we will have another! I'm sorry, but after all Neal went through, did you really think it would be all fine and dandy after a day? I feel bad about how I play with Peter's emotions, but it helps show how much Neal means to him. Mozzie and June will be back, and then they can all form a circle of worry…yay! Sorry this took a week to post!

Review! :)


	13. Moving Forward

**Chapter 13**

Moving Forward

The next three days passed in slow motion for everyone, except for Neal, who probably didn't realize anytime had passed at all from the time he went into surgery to the time he woke up seventy-two hours later. Peter and El were told the surgery was successful. They had gone in to relieve the pressure that had built up in his skull which, coupled with the fever, triggered Neal's seizure. Peter shuddered at the memory. After Neal had gone into surgery, the nurse who had been there since the beginning urged them to go home. Reluctantly, they did. Peter couldn't sleep though, and he barely slept for the two nights after that. His worry for Neal was overpowering, and every time he closed his eyes he was greeted with flashes of Neal in pain, whether it be in the cabin, the submarine, or the hospital. No matter what he did, he couldn't get Neal out of his head.

June came by the hospital and shared comforting words with Peter and Elizabeth. She stayed for over an hour by Neal's bedside, pushing locks of his hair back and stroking his cheeks all while telling him stories about Byron's old adventures. Mozzie came too, and to their surprise, stayed with them for most of the day. Peter could tell he hadn't slept either.

But luckily for all of them, Neal woke up. The three days leading up to his waking were filled with anxiety and sorrow, but once they caught sight of those blue eyes again, all the worry seemed to fade away. The nurses checked him over thoroughly, noting that he no longer had a fever and the medication they had switched him to fought off the infection. Also, his head was healing nicely and his hand was no longer bandaged heavily, instead replaced by a contraption that reminded Peter of the Terminator.

It took a while, but over the next week Neal became more coherent. Peter still wouldn't leave his bedside, only running into the office when he was asleep. When he woke, they shared a few words, although Neal was still exhausted and slurring most of them, but Peter could tell he was getting better. The vibrancy in his eyes was slowly returning and he started to get his color back, and Neal would smile every time he woke to see Peter or El sitting next to him. It filled their hearts with warmth seeing that.

Once when Neal awoke, twelve days after the first night in the hospital, he turned to Peter and blinked up at him sleepily. "P'ter…the case."

"Hey buddy good to see you awake." He said as he put a file down and leaned towards him. "What case?"

"Uhh…cold." He said tiredly.

"What are you cold?"

"No no no…the case." He said insistently, closing his eyes and shaking his head, somewhat frustrated.

"You aren't much help here Neal. What are you talking about?" Peter said, like he was trying to reason with a three year old who had limited grammar.

"They're twins." Neal said.

Peter looked over to El, who looked just as puzzle as he did. "Neal, look at me." Neal complied, and when he opened his eyes and caught sight of Peter he smiled again. _Why does he always have to do that?_ Neal's sleepy smile melted Peter's heart. He couldn't understand how no matter what, every time he woke up he would smile, despite all he'd been through. "Now, Neal" he said as he put his hand on his shoulder. "Tell me what you are getting at here."

"Ah P'ter c'mon you're a better agent th'n that." He said. "The case…the cold one…from…from the night…"

 _Oh…He's referring to the cold case we were pondering the night he was taken._

"What about the case, Neal?" Peter asked skeptically, wondering if Neal's meds were set a little too high.

"They were _twins."_ He said, eyeing Peter like he was expecting praise.

"Who was?"

"The insurance fraud guy! It wasn't just him, there were two!" Neal said excitedly, as if he had found the Holy Grail.

"Oh my God Neal." Peter said in disbelief. "That's how none of the crimes matched up. The aliases, the different states, the mismatching dates, it all makes sense." Neal had closed his eyes again. Peter looked toward El, "How the hell does he do this?"

"'cause 'm smart." Came the slurred reply.

Peter just shook his head and laughed. God, was he happy to have Neal back, well _mostly back._

Gradually, Neal began to stay awake longer. By day fourteen, he was able to stay awake for most of the day, and they had started to give him solid food. After a rather bland lunch, Peter asked him, "So, how are you feeling?"

Neal shrugged. "Been better, but I'm alright." He looked down at his hand, which was still in the immovable metallic device that connected all the way up to his bicep. He frowned.

"You know they said the x-rays look good. They said you should regain full use after some physical therapy." Peter said, sensing Neal's discomfort.

"And you bet your ass you are completing all of that therapy." El chimed in.

"And, speaking of therapy…" Peter began. "El, can you give us a moment?" She rose and walked out of the room, nodding at Peter. They'd discussed this earlier in the day.

Peter continued, "I know that what you went through was…bad…to say the least. Don't bite my head off, but I think talking to someone, a professional, might help."

"Oh Peter." Neal rolled his eyes. "I don't need a shrink. The fact that Wesley is locked up is all the therapy I need."

Peter saw that Neal tried to be convincing, but he couldn't hide the chill that went up his body when he said Wesley's name.

"Don't try to con me Neal. What he did to you…" Peter saw Neal look away.

"I'm fine aright?" He said sharply, still looking toward the other side of the room.

"No you're not."

"How would you know? And how would you know that therapy would help me?"

"Because I'm talking to a professional too. I've been seeing him for over a week now…" Peter said hesitantly and averted his eyes as Neal turned back toward him in shock.

"You? Really you are? But…why?" Neal asked, a sudden innocence and guilt in his voice.

"This whole thing…it wasn't easy for me. I can get over Wesley kicking my ass but the thought of him hurting you…and thinking I wasn't going to find you…and seeing you code multiple times…waiting in the hospital…" Peter stopped before the tears that were welling had a chance to fall.

"Peter…"

"It was just too much for me, I guess. El suggested seeing someone…so I did."

"I'm sorry." Neal said quietly.

"For what?"

"For making you worry so much. I didn't…" He stopped.

"You didn't what?" Peter asked, looking up at him.

"I…I've never had anyone really care about me. I didn't realize I meant _that_ much to you."

The words were like a knife twisting into Peter's heart.

"Oh, Neal." Peter said as he reached a hand up and rested it on Neal's shoulder. "Besides El, you are the most important person in my life. You're my best friend, buddy."

Neal smiled and blushed slightly. "Thanks, Peter."

They were silent for a few seconds, taking in the heart to heart conversation that had surprisingly happened between them.

Neal continued, "Remember in the Howser Clinic, I told you that you were the only one I trust?"

"Yeah, when you were drugged off your ass?" Peter replied with a small laugh.

"Yeah, yeah. But I meant what I said Peter." Neal locked eyes with him. "You're the only person I trust. The only one I can rely on. Thank you for that."

Neal leaned back and closed his eyes again, and Peter took that as his cue to go find El. Before he stepped through the door, he looked back at his CI and smiled.

 _Son of a bitch._ Peter couldn't believe how this con man had weaseled his way into the depths of his heart. He was more than a consultant, he was a true friend, and Peter was more than happy to finally have him back.

 **End.**

* * *

So? What did you think? Short and sweet ending. You can infer what happens, or I'll leave it up to your imagination. My intention is everything goes back to normal after some good bonding and therapy and such, and Neal and Peter's relationship is much more meaningful of course. Thanks for sticking along for the ride, I'd really appreciate a review to let me know how I did!

FIRST FANFICTION IS COMPLETE! (I will take new requests/prompts!)


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